Redemption
by Superbleh11
Summary: Off of Hiatus! Aang and Katara are called away by a Loyalist invasion, leaving Toph and Sokka to help the postwar Fire Nation. But, an underground crime organization called the Family threatens everything they have worked for and more.Tokka. M for safety.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Welp, here it is, the first chapter of Release's (and technically Dragons and Teashops') sequel, Redemption! I won't waste time here, go dive in!

Disclaimer: Surprisingly, Superbleh11 does not own in any way, shape, or form Avatar: the Last Airbender. Seriously! I was shocked, too!

**Redemption**

by Superbleh11

Chapter 1

Jiro the Mouse:

"Hey, get your little monkey butt moving!" Yusha hisses, peering his head out the door. My eyes flick lazily to his angry face, puffed up and red from a mixture of exhaustion and frustration.

"Don't be gruff with me, tubby," I shoot back at him, leaning forward out of my chair, "Running's good for you. You need the exercise."

He rolls his eyes and disappears behind the corridor, sending echoes of heavy footfalls throughout the alley. My arm reaches up and over my head as I stretch lazily, yawning in preparation for what's about to happen. A sudden ripping noise fires out angrily from my shirt as the stretch reaches its peak, pulling me out of my thoughts. Tints of anger and frustration pulse through me as I furiously whip my arm around. Sure enough, the stitching has come loose, exposing a long, palpable hole in underneath my armpit. I grit my teeth and mutter a silent curse before I enter the room.

My eyes immediately struggle to adjust to the heavy darkness of the room. Windows in the upper corners shed pitiful beams of light into the scene; just enough to highlight the oppressive dark that shadows the faces of the men inside. Water dribbles lazily down from the ceiling, thickening the air with heavy moisture, and making me wonder about the torches that glimmer on the far end of the room. They stand close to the symbol of the Family: an open black hand stretched over a crimson red circle, aimed so that the little illumination the torches provide can expose the symbol before it drowns in the humid black.

The leader of the team, seated in an overstuffed chair that is just new enough to appear luxurious, leans forward over a table of some unknown wood. His eyes, piercing and malevolent, shine brightly against the bleak backdrop as he eyes me up and down. I suddenly begin to feel out of place and uncomfortable under the gaze of him and the other eight or nine scattered erratically across the room, and I shift my weight to make myself appear more menacing.

"Jiro," the leader says. It isn't a question, just a statement of fact, spat out with all emotional presence of the word "chair" or "screwdriver". I force my gaze to meet his, quelling the urge to turn away, and forcing the whining of my gut deeper down.

"You're called the Mouse around here, isn't that right?" he asks. His voice is youthful, but gravelly, as if the weight of experience and the times has forced age into it. "Not a very tough nickname. Why do they call you that?"

"I...I'm a thief," I stammer, wincing at the pitiful weakness of my voice, "A pickpocket. The folks around here call me the Mouse because you don't notice me til it's too late." I try to say it with a tint of pride, hoping that it will counteract the lame explanation.

The leader snorts, and reclines further in the chair, causing the stuffing to squeak loudly. "I like that. The Mouse," he repeats, "And I've heard of you. I'd ask you if you're good at what you do, but I already know the answer. You've got some fast hands, so they say."

"Yeah," I respond lamely, forcing them deeper into my pockets, and further out of sight.

"Right," he agrees, "And now you want to join up with the Family. Our little organization. You know why it's called the Family?" he asks, but he cuts me off before I can respond. "Because we look out for each other. Just like a regular family. Course, we're involved in some pretty illegal things. You ok with that? You think you could help us do things that are against the law?"

"Well, I am a pickpocket," comes out before I can stop it, firing out of my mouth and hanging lazily in the air, waiting to be tasted and processed by the judges that surround me. My relief is palpable when the nameless leader smiles.

"Yeah, yeah," he admits, "But you're looking at conspiracy. Burglary in the first degree, not just petty theft. Hard time. The new government don't look too kindly upon these sorts of things." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, so better to leer at me. Even at five feet away, I could feel his breath upon me, appraising me, gaging me. "I need to know that you won't run. That you won't rat us out. That you'll be loyal."

I feel my stomach rumble underneath me as he speaks, feel the thinness of the souls of my shoes, feel the tears in my clothing, and the grit over my body. I run one of my thin hands over an even thinner arm, brushing up against the prominent bones and sunken flesh. My voice shakes with suppressed emotion as I speak, quavering in the way that only desperation can cause.

"Hey, I'm starving," I admit, running a hand through my greasy, unkempt hair, "I don't eat more than once a day, and that's if I'm lucky. This is my only set of clothes, and they're falling apart at the seams. This country's gone down the tubes, and there's no money left, especially since my parents ain't come back. I'm a good pickpocket, but that don't make no difference when nobody around you has anything. I can't get into the ritzy areas of town. I've got nothing, and I need help. That's why I'm here."

He waits a minute, flicking his eyes upon my malnourished body, before grinning. "Good. That's the kind of thing I want to hear," he says warmly, but his words ooze with a sort of condescension I'm not sure I'm comfortable with. "My name is Wazha, and I'm the Lieutenant of this section of the Family. Now we got one assignment for you to start on, but first, why don't we get this poor kid some bread or something?"

Yusha stands up, and forces some bread into my hands. My fingers wrap hungrily around it, feeling the crinkling of the crust underneath them, and reveling in the organic feel of the pastry inside. My loosened teeth close around it before I even process what's happening, absorbing the dry morsels into my mouth, filling me with desperately needed sugars and proteins. I groan contentedly as I force more and more of it into me, feeling the stress and pressures of poverty begin to lift off of my shoulders.

"Hey, how old did you say you were, again?" Wazha asks, as he moves from around the table.

"Fifteen," I answer around a mouthful.

* * *

The clatter of the marketplace around me is deafening; people haggling, screaming, bartering around stands for all sorts of foods and trinkets. I keep my eye on the target before me: a large man, stocky and broad-shouldered, garbed in a decadent crimson robe. His prominent mutton chop beard casts gray hair angrily down the side of his face, giving him a severe and unapproachable look. I'm only going to have one shot at this.

The nobleman turns to the side, admiring some small bauble resting on the wooden table of a stand, but, more importantly, giving me sight of my target. I can hear the pouch jingling ten feet away as he pulls it from the folds of his clothing, languidly unties the clasp and pries several gold pieces from it. It takes every ounce of strength I possess to resist going after it, but I have my orders.

The key is what I'm after. Adjacent to the wallet lies a thin pocket, in which the clear impression of a key can be seen. I prepare myself, closing my eyes, and placing the pocket on his large body. This is going to be tricky.

I see him complete his little transaction, bagging up a shiny piece of gold and turning towards me. Reflexively I begin walking, looking distinctly past him at the shop he's come from, directly towards the flamboyantly loud vendor. I hear him approach more then see him, hear his heavy breathing, the clatter of his boots on the pavement, and the singsong chatter of the coins in his wallet. I allow myself to be surprised when his body slams into mine, firing my inside hand forward. I feel the whisper of cloth on the back of it as it enters his pocket, feel the cold metal that snaps my fingers shut, feel the soft give of his belly. Then, I'm falling, sprawled backwards to the unforgiving stone of the pavement, clenching my fist as tightly as I can around the metal object.

"Sorry, sir," I say sheepishly, praying that he didn't notice my hand in his pocket. His eyebrows furrow sternly as his gaze runs down the length of his nose to view me. Wordlessly, he stomps away, jamming his foot in a nearby puddle. I flinch angrily as the bitterly cold, filthy water flicks against my face. The rich swine. I wish I could see his face when he realizes his key is missing.

I prop myself back up, regaining my feet in one smooth motion, and begin walking. My steps are hurried and purposeful as I clear the marketplace, brushing past the herds of gawkers and window shoppers on my way to the housing district.

My pace increases drastically as I turn the corner, whirring onto the cobblestone street and gripping the key firmly in my hand. I see the house looming in the backdrop, the beautiful white and red paint glinting happily in the sunlight, dominating my view. His home seems to represent everything wealth is: officious glory, the wonder of comfort and fearless living.

A gloved hand suddenly appears around my collar, jerking me backwards and snapping me out of my thought. My knife suddenly appears in my free grip, a product of the sudden terror and adrenaline that flies through my system, but I relax as I see the plump roundness of Yusha's face.

"Easy there, hotman!" he leers, pushing his heavy cheeks upwards with an awkward smile. "The real work's about to start! Did you get the key?"

I sheath the knife and angrily pry his fat fingers off of my shirt. "Yeah I got it!" is all I can think of to say as I produce it. The key glimmers dully against my pale flesh, shining light across the length of its teeth as another of my team appears out of the alley and brushes past Yusha. His height puts me off guard, sending a thrill of fear down my spine as I gaze upon his stern and solid face. Suddenly, his hand fires out towards me; instinctively, my fingers close around the glittering object and bring it closer to my person.

"We don't have time for this. Give me the key," he says. I think his name is Hoza.

"Yeah, sure," I mutter, tossing the key to him. He catches it deftly, his long fingers completely enshrouding it as he stuffs it into his pocket with a rustle of cloth.

"We're going to meet the other three at the house," Hoza says stoically. His mouth is pulled down into a permanent frown, as if held there by a prominent jaw and distinctively low cheekbones.

"Right," I agree, and we're off.

It takes us no more then five minutes to reach the mansion, which is even more magnificent up close. I stand across the street, and yet, as I look forward, it is all I can see; the castle takes up my entire horizon in its massive decadence. My hand unconsciously reaches forward, as if to caress it, before Yusha jerks me back to reality.

"Hey, you got those nice new clothes we gave you dirty!"

Shocked, I look downward at myself. Sure enough, the splash from the puddle has dotted the flowing crimson shirt with speckles of brown. I look sheepishly at Hoza, who seems to have taken the leadership role, knowing that I'm about to get in trouble. The dyed fabric that this shirt is made of is valuable enough to feed me for two weeks.

"I don't have time for this crap," Hoza spits at Yusha, "We'll get him some new clothes. Now shut your fat mouth and listen!"

The five of us gather around him, pricking our ears up intently as he lays out the plan of attack. He gives out floor details, and spots where wealth is likely to be hidden, but much of it goes right by me. I'm not familiar enough with words like 'foyer', or 'master room' to fully understand the brunt of it. His dark beady eyes flicker in my direction as he continues, and I know he realizes my inexperience. Despite myself, I feel ashamed.

"Look, kid," he says, his voice adopting a less severe tone, "Don't trouble yourself. You'll learn about this. Right now, we need you for lookout. The law has been comin' down on us hard as of late."

I know this is a chaff job, but I'll take it. I furrow my eyebrows intently, hoping to mask the embarrassment I feel at my own lack of abilities, hoping to be taken seriously by clods like Yusha. A red cloth is suddenly produced from Hoza's tunic, flowing delicately in the wind as he holds it up for me to see.

"This is important, kid, are you listening?" he asks, as he pushes the cloth into my hands, "If any guards or police show up, anyone at all, you hang this off the gate, then get lost. You got me? Get out of there. Do not get pinched for any reason. Your hands are too valuable."

Resolutely, I nod my head. His focus stays on me for a fraction of a second, then he turns to face the rest of the group.

"Ok, you thieving rats. Let's go get some money!" he grins. A show of nervous smiles flicker back at him in return, and everyone spreads out. I pull back to the other side of the street, standing in front of the apartments to watch as the group approaches the gate. I hear the scratching and clinking of metal as Hoza jams the key in the heavy padlock, forces it open, and pushes forward. Yusha follows right behind him, followed by the other three. My eyes flick nervously up and down the street, watching for any signs of movement or uniform, but it is thankfully empty. Within seconds, the group fully disappears into the yard.

I breathe out nervously, pricking my ears for any sign of activity. Suddenly, I hear a dull cracking noise, followed by muffled yelling. My hands begin to shake as panic starts to fall in, until I realize that its probably just the sentry. My relief is total when Yusha's face appears back at the gate with a thumbs up signal. Security's been taken out. I lean back and try to relax.

Noise is always around in the city. There is no escape from it: it blankets every cobblestone with a constant array of sound, which does not help kill my edge. I can't help my shaking hands as I wait with baited breath.

"You ok, buddy?" a voice asks from behind me. My shock is total as I whirl around, mouth agape, my eyes screaming guilt. I see the pair standing before me and back away slightly.

How could they have snuck up on me? I was being so careful! The two stand cockily before me, a young man and a girl, with big grins on their faces. My gaze is instantly drawn to the man; his features are nothing like anybody I've ever seen before. His skin is a dark tan color, only slightly lighter then his dark coffee hair, which is tucked up into a short topknot ponytail and complimented by a small burst of beard underneath his lower lip. Yet, what really stands out about him are his violently blue eyes: cool and bright over his otherwise dark appearance.

"Are you deaf or something? He asked you a question," the girl snaps at me. The gruffness of her speech is somehow taken away by the high pitch of her voice, flowery and slightly delicate. It matches her appearance: she's short, shorter then me, and pale like milk. Her eyes are glazed and unfocused, glaring strangely forward, yet not truly seeing anything. It suddenly dawns on me that she's blind.

"I...I'm fine!" I stammer dumbly, running my hand through my hair as my brain struggles to think up a cover story. "I...I live in these apartments," I say, gesturing behind me, "But..I forgot my key, so I'm waiting for someone to come out so I can get back in..."

Yes, yes, I know. It's stupid, and it's lame, but, surprisingly, the man's grin just widens, and he looks across the street.

"Right, well, I don't want to alarm you or anything," he drawls out, his voice jovial and light, "But I think there are some bad folks robbing that house across the street. You might want to duck and cover before we go to stop them."

My mouth hangs open dumbly, swinging agape like my jaw is broken, but for the life of me, I can't bring myself to say anything. I just hope that my surprise can be taken as guiltless.

"Right...well, ok then!" he says, and the two walk forward towards the house.

Then I notice it. The man draws a long, ornate sword from his back, sliding it lazily out of the wooden sheath. I hear the hiss of the metal sliding free, yet still struggle to believe it. It's not just that swords are outlawed, its the color. The blade is black as coal, ashy and dull against the glittering sunlight. A faint reflection is cast in it as the man readies it, and eases through the gate and into the yard. He hitches as he walks, with a slight limp. I might have a chance at getting away.

The girl follows him easily, pushing past the gate with no trouble at all. I guess she isn't blind. She can't be. Her bare feet follow the contours of the ground perfectly as she pads confidently forward, tailing carefully behind the form of the tall limping warrior.

My memory suddenly strikes me like a hammer. I feel a tint of fear rush up my spine as I surge forward, careful to avoid being seen. The cement crackles dangerously as I plant my foot against the stone column by the gate, vaulting upwards towards the metal prongs. My outstretched hand grips the cold metal solidly as gravity begins to jerk me downward, swinging me around and giving me just enough time to force the cloth over the barbs. I catch a glimpse of Hoza's face in an upper story window as I hit the ground, immediately before I flip around the column and wait.

I let myself breathe, and peer around the column. The tanned man with the piercing blue eyes walks through the entrance, while the girl stops and waits in front of the porch. Surprised, I scan the backdrop of the yard for any signs of backup, yet find none. How good do these two think they are?

* * *

Sokka, of the Water Tribe:

The smile begins to fade as I lurch into the doorway, crossing the barrier from stone to hardwood, effectively into the danger zone. I hear the creak of wood underneath me as I pace forward, causing me to issue a silent curse at the staccato rhythm of my limp. The furniture sits idly, ordered nicely across the room, betraying the thick, tense atmosphere that permeates the house.

I edge forward, carefully making my way through the wealthy scene and towards the next room, bearing my sword point-forward. My eyes dart furtively back and forth as I cross to the door, easing to it as quietly as possible. The blade extends forward, almost of its own accord as I reach the threshold, forcing the door open slowly with the loud squeak of old hinges. Suddenly, a shadow darts across my vision; only my years of combat experience prevent me from starting noisily and alerting the raiders of my realization. I edge backwards and prepare.

I crouch slightly, leaning to the left and keeping the weight off of my numb leg. My eyes narrow darkly as the heat of action begins in the pit of my stomach, welling up into my throat and pushing strength into my legs and arms. Time to start!

The corded muscles of my legs tighten suddenly, propelling me off the ground and into a diving roll. I feel the wind of a swinging knife pass over my neck as I fly through the open door; the noise of splintering wood shoots through my eardrums as I realize my instincts were right. I come easily to my feet, swinging to my left and keeping weight off the the unreliable, tortured nerves of my right leg; the ash-black blade of my _jian_ flies to the ready and I take in my enemies.

I have just enough time to register the massive gut of the flabby man who charges at me, armed handily with a long hunting knife. He swings forward; there is no clashing of steel on steel, no noise other than the rustling of cloth as I lean away, catching his armpit with the flat of my blade and throwing him over my bad hip. He tumbles awkwardly, yelping in surprise as his monolithic girth plows through the window behind us and he falls out of sight. I lean forward, away from the stinging shards of flying glass and wood; dragging my focus away from the din of the shattered window to the man dragging his knife out of the wood.

He jerks it free with a final tug and charges at me; much faster than the fat man. The dagger flies forward, painting a silver arc into the air as he swings it downward. My blackened sword sings as it flows upward, catching the long knife at the hilt and scoring the backs of his fingers. Blood spurts from his hand as he screams and flies backwards, clutching the opened flesh and looking fearfully at me.

I smirk triumphantly as I flip the dagger up and off of the ground with the point of my sword, catching it deftly in my open hand before tossing it out through the opened window. Toph can take care of him if he runs for it.

The wood creaks more angrily as I race awkwardly up the stairs, hoping to flush out the rest of the would-be raiders. I breathe a sigh of relief at the near-miss from the first swing, thankful for the style I designed accommodating my bad leg. It works well with my longsword; little leg movement ensures that I don't end up in a bad spot because of my inability to feel my right hip. It helps that most fighters put a lot of force into each movement, consistently leaving me with open momentum to exploit.

The sound of racing footsteps pulls me back to earth as I crest the final stair; my gaze is instantly drawn to the man charging towards me with a blade in his hand. I see the shimmering arc of cold steel as he brings the blade over his ear, prepping for the stab downward. Almost reflexively, I throw myself against the wall as he begins to strike down, avoiding him and swinging my _jian_ downwards in a wide curve. The black blur of my weapon seems to blend with the white blur of his as my sword crashes into the boot he throws his weight into. His strike flies forward awkwardly as he continues past his intended target, over and into the stairs; the knife flies from his outstretched hand as his face slams into the middle step, filling the room with the dull, sickening thuds of his unconscious body rolling down the stairs.

I begin to run forward at my awkward pace before I watch him glide to a stop; there's one more raider in this house, waiting to attack me, and I don't intend on being taken off guard.

He suddenly walks out ahead of me, coming to a calm, unhurried halt. An ornate iron poker is clutched in his hand, measured by the easy yet determined look etched on his sallow features. He's tall, with a large reach, and I feel myself growing uneasy.

My pace slows to a measured walk as I pace into the room, careful to let him see me limp, hoping he'll underestimate me. It seems to work: a small smile creeps onto the sour frown that seems drawn on him. I stop before getting within reach of his iron poker; he swings it slowly, feeling its unfamiliar weight, and drawing it into a clear Fire Nation Army stance. Great. A veteran.

When he attacks, it is sudden, fast, and skillful. The heavy cast-iron whistles a low baritone as he throws it into an underhanded swing. I fly into a sidestep off my good leg, bringing my much lighter weapon to bear in a vicious strike aimed at his clenched hand; it is swatted away uselessly by his makeshift club. I manage to pull away, taking a quick, easy step backwards before I notice the beginnings of a head strike in his pose. This is my chance!

He starts the strike from behind his ear, pulling himself back before throwing his weight forwards and swiping for my face, but he only gets about halfway before he's finished. I twist the pommel of my sword, bringing the flat out to bear as the blade licks out, flying past his open guard and slamming forcefully into the side of his head. Spittle flies from his open mouth as the sense is knocked from him, accompanied by the numbed fingers that let go of the poker. The noisy clatter of the weapon falling to the ground mixes with the heavy thud of his limp, unconscious body cascading forwards. He stirs at the impact, trying to come to, but his feeble attempts at propping himself up fail to gain him anything more than enough space to vomit, which he does. I can feel the look of disgust cross my face as I step backward, avoiding the puddle of half-processed food and bile that grows quickly before me.

"Don't worry, I didn't hit you hard enough to crack your skull," I reassure him, as the sword slides neatly back into its sheath, "You'll be fine. Course, you'll be in prison. But alive in prison!"

A wet gurgle is his only response.

* * *

"You know the kid was lying, right?" Toph asks, padding blindly towards me as I exit the mansion. A self-satisfied smirk lights up her features, painted by the unfocused eyes that glimmer out into space. I can't help but return the smirk as she brushes the raven-black bangs from her face, forcing the unruly hair back behind her ears.

"Did you hear my footsteps first, or did you feel me cross from the wood to the dirt?" I ask, avoiding the subject.

"Don't be stupid with me, Sokka," she warns dangerously, folding her arms. It's her distinctive "do not approach" admonition, an implication of future danger, and I take the hint.

"Yeah, yeah, I knew he was lying," I admit, running a hand through my hair in defeat, "I just figured he's probably one of the poorer members of the Family. You know, the young ones who just need the money. I figured if we cut him a break, he might get scared out of being a part of it."

"He ran away about halfway through the fight. I think right before you beat the tall one retarded," she says, replacing her danger stance with a more arrogant hand-on-the-hip, "I think you should have let me grab him. Don't blame me if we end up meeting him again at another raid."

"I know, I know," I say with exasperation, gesticulating my frustration with short, violent arm movements, "But maybe not! Maybe us giving him a break will make him change! Besides, I seem to remember a little blind twelve-year-old running around these streets and conning anyone and everyone she met out of as much as she could. He's not the violent Family. The _real _Family. That's the one we're after. The political, malicious ones, that bribe, and threaten the peace."

"Blah blah blah," she ripostes with an unmistakable air of boredom, whirling away from me and starting the walk towards the gate, "You're just nitpicking. You make this too complicated."

I manage a worn smile before plodding up to follow her. Too my surprise, as I approach, she swings around in a whirl of dust, throwing her hands outward and dragging me into a fierce hug. My smile becomes more natural as I follow suit, wrapping my arms around her short frame. I lean forward to rest my head against hers, pausing to place a delicate kiss on her pale forehead.

"Mmm," she coos, squeezing me tighter. I know that no explanation for the hug is coming; I long ago gave up expecting one from her. Over our three-year relationship, Toph has been prone to random acts of affection: quick hugs, or intense kissing sessions with no speech involved at all. She acts on her impulses, translating them into her most comfortable form of communication: action. I like it that way. No words are needed, because we both understand. Plus it keeps me on my toes. Punches are just as likely as hugs.

Her arms slowly relinquish the grip, uncoiling like a tightly-wound snake as she pulls her arms away. I hesitate, feeling her smooth, supple skin under my grip, my eyes darting down to meet her unseeing ones. She smirks, feeling my hesitation, clenching her fists around the cloth of my shirt and shuffling her bare feet sideways. The ground crumbles warmly, sending out a familiar song of sliding shale and crumbling basalt as a pillar slowly elevates her upwards. Her aim is perfect, pressing her soft and delicate lips firmly into mine as her arm slinks around my neck, gentle but insistent.

Then, it's over. She pulls away sheepishly, allowing the newly formed pedestal to sink back into the earth as she lets go of me.

"Uhh... The police are about to show up," she explains shyly. I respond with my best cavalier smirk.

"Right...well we better get back. We've got an important meeting, and I think he'll be surprised to see us."

* * *

Aang, the Avatar:

"Is that better?" she asks.

"Unghh..." I drool.

Her soft, warm hands knead firmly into the stressed and tortured muscles of my upper back, firing thrills of pleasure up my spine with each completed circle. I feel the warmth of her breath on my neck, humid and heavy, accompanied by the fresh scent of her hair, and I want to melt. My neck ceases to function and allows my head to droop forward, dangling awkwardly as I let the pleasantness wash over.

It's a rare moment, and one I've learned to cherish since we've been here in Dai-Tso, repelling General Xu's invasion. His army arrived unannounced in the dead of night, besieging the shocked city in a matter of hours; it may have been too late to save had the Mayor not sent out messenger hawks to the Fire Nation and Ba Sing Se. Trouble is, Ba Sing Se is almost two hundred miles from here, and getting a large enough army from there to here takes a shockingly long amount of time.

My head rises slightly, allowing my gaze to flow over the incredibly blue water of the port; a lump travels up my chest and into my throat, prying its way towards my mouth. I miss Toph and Sokka terribly, but someone had to keep the Fire Nation Council and the Family from creating a civil war, and Dai Tso is too important to risk losing, as it is the closest port city to the Fire Nation islands. Xu was brilliant to attack here.

"Avatar Aang! Madame Katara!" an officious voice cries out from behind our door. I feel a noticeable breeze from Katara as she groans, dropping her hands and folding them across her chest. My fingers subconsciously move to my bald head, scratching an itch through the slight stubble as I sigh in preparation.

The door bursts open with a magnificent crash as the awkward messenger flies through, gripping his armor to keep it from rattling. He's young: almost as young as me.

"Avatar Aang! General Heung wants to meet with you and Madame Katara!" spews out of his mouth before he seems ready, coming to a screeching halt in front of us and throwing an unnecessary salute.

"Right," I say resolutely. My eyes meet Katara's ocean-blue ones, gazing through a milky tint of sadness and fatigue, which betrays the warm and loving smile she flashes for me. She's just as tired of this as I am. We can only hope it'll all be over soon.

The war room is almost as ostentatious and over-the-top as the one in Ba Sing Se, with ornately crafted pillars of marble rocketing upwards into a ceiling almost too high to see. The mosaics spew enough color to make up for the height of the roof, firing off a martial scene so exploding with glory and prestige that you can almost feel the tears streaming down the faces of the people that put it together. I'm never more aware of how small I am as when I'm walking through this room, feeling the massive echoes my footsteps produce, bouncing across the walls and up to the ceiling. Honestly, though, I almost like feeling small. It's a pleasant diversion from the droves of people who attempt to tell me I'm great. I don't feel great.

Heung stands facing us on the other end of the massive map table, arms crossed behind his back, with a stern expression written on his face. His magnificent beard and mustache combination pulls the skin of his face down, prying his mouth and eyes into a permanent frown. He looks almost exactly the same as when I first met him.

"Ah, yes, Avatar Aang, and Madame Katara," he says stoically, offering two curt bows, "I've laid out a battle strategy to force back the Loyalists that have taken the hill outside the city walls. I think you will find it to be quite effective."

He acts exactly the same, too.

"Alright, sounds good," I say scratchily, annoyed at being pulled down here for a battle-plan he's already approved, "Any word yet on when the army from Ba Sing Se will be arriving?" It's been almost three weeks, and the city's resources are beginning to run dry. Xu's almost taken the city three times, all in the last seven days, and I don't know how much longer we can hold him back.

"None yet, Avatar," he says, a bit of desperation edging through his calm and martial demeanor. He opens his mouth, as if wanting to say something, but thinks better of it and turns away. The clattering of his armor and the rustling of his clothes travels back and forth through our ears several times, emphasizing the loneliness of his side of the room. He knows that his fate is connected to the fate of the city: if it falls, so will he. Despite myself, I feel for him.

I sneak a glance at Katara standing beside me, hoping she'll catch the furtive movement and offer some advice. She reads me perfectly.

"It'll be ok," she says firmly, as though convincing herself, "The evacuation went off without a hitch, and all the citizens are gone. We'll be able to take the city back if we need to."

Neither I nor Heung have the heart to argue with her.

* * *

Zuko, Former Prince:

The sunlight breaks out from behind a pair of clouds, showering us with a rain of warmth as we travel through the park. I let myself smile as I take in the scene: the vibrant green of the trees, the melodious cacophony of birdsong, the bright blue of the sky and the crunch of gravel underneath our feet.

Xiang's silken brown hair flows out and into my face as a sudden gust of wind picks it up. I smirk a little bit as I pull away, sputtering the strands from my mouth and brushing them out of my eyes. She turns and looks at me, catching the sunlight in her bright amber eyes and flashing me a nonplussed smile.

"Your hair attacked me," I explain, as my smirk widens. Her confused expression turns into one of sarcastic comprehension, flowing with the impudent grin that exposes her teeth.

"Did it?" she asks, as her hand comes up to grip the comb holding the majority of her hair back. She jerks it away suddenly with an impish squeal, whipping her head around and forcing her hair into a violent swirl that catches my nose and mouth. I let out a short groan, which fails miserably to hide my amusement, as my hands feebly work to contain the mass of coffee brown that she throws to me. Eventually, as a stray strand pierces the wet orb of my eye, I get smart, pulling her close and gliding my hands smoothly across her scalp. I feel the individual tendrils underneath my fingers, clean and smooth, as the hair becomes collected behind her, contained and harmless.

I suddenly feel the warmth of her breath on my face, pricking up my stubble and sending chills down my spine as I realize how close we are. I allow my head to lean forward, into hers as our lips meet, cushioning each other and bringing us closer.

She smiles as she breaks the kiss, tucking her head onto my chest and drawing me into a hug. I feel my heartbeat against her cheek, feel the slow rhythms that her body sways to as she holds to me, but most of all, I feel her smile fade. I look down, seeing the worry that pierces her expression, and ask what I know she wants me to.

"What's wrong?"

She sighs outwardly, snuggling a little deeper into my chest and running her hand up and down my back before answering. "I'm just worried about Daddy, and what's going on," she says resignedly, "The Family has been raiding more and more homes. Did you hear that they attacked General Hahn's house just two days ago? They're getting braver and more destructive, and the poverty line is so low that the people get more and more supportive of them!"

"I know, it's a bad situation," I admit, running a hand through her hair, "But your dad has a lot of sway in the Council, and Councilman Tsung is very popular and a perfect choice for Fire Lord. The Council will come around, and when they do, the people will follow. Especially for someone like Tsung. Everything is going to be ok, trust me. We'll be fine, and so will your dad."

"I know, really I do, but I can't help but worry," she admits, breaking the hug. She plops down onto a park bench by the gravel path, forcing a noticeable creak of wood through the crunch of gravel under our feet. I move to sit beside her, wrapping my arm over her shoulders and looking out at the beautiful summer scene of the park.

Things may be bad for the country, but I can't remember a time that I've ever been this happy. Stepping down from the Fire Nation Throne may well have been the best decision I ever made.

* * *

**A/N:**

Ha, here it finally is! The beginning of Redemption, the sequel to Release! I know its taken me an ungodly amount of time to start this up, but I feel confident in the storyline and the way its going to take shape. Before I say anything more, a super mega thanks goes out to my brand new analytical and grammatical beta, Lord Esquire! He's done an awesome job so far, and I'm optimistic about the rest of the story!

Well, like I said, this is the sequel to Release, and it takes place about three years after the end of it. For a brief summary (for those of you that didn't read it), Suki and Sokka split up, Toph and Sokka joined together, General Xu (an OC Loyalist General) was found to secretly be an Earthbender, and the Fire Nation Loyalists are a big problem. For a little clarification: The Family is a very prominent underground crime organization that has spread around the post-war Fire Nation, and Aang and Katara are fighting Xu's main army in Dai-Tso, a very important port city in the Earth Kingdom (and yes, Jiro the Mouse will come back).

That said, I'm sure there are a bunch of you wondering as to who the hell Xiang is. Well, she's first introduced in my little oneshot, Dragons and Teashops, and she is Zuko's current love interest (they've been together for about three years). She's the fiery and passionate daughter of a Fire Nation Councilman, and that's about all y'all should know up 'til now.

For those of you that may be wondering, yes, Zuko will be a MAJOR character in this story! For the record (as told in Dragons and Teashops), he owns a teashop called the Dragon of the West, upon which he's managed to scrape up a decent bit of money, and Iroh has since died. So rejoice all you Zuko fans!

Well, that's all the business stuff! I'm thrilled to be starting another major chapter fic, and I sure hope you all enjoy it as much (or even more!) than Release! I've got plenty of twists and turns to throw your way, so be ready!

Now, the fun little obligatory preview of Chapter 2:

Next time: A major and a minor reunion, a detailed look at the Family through its main bosses, the introduction of the Fire Nation Council, and the ball starts moving! Keep reading!

Superbleh11


	2. Chapter 2

**

* * *

******

A/N:

Once again, sorry about the late chapter, but here it is! I hope you all enjoy it, and I thank you all for your patience.

Chapter 2

Singe, a Family Man:

I feel the cloth of the chair rustle uncomfortably underneath me as I push myself farther into it. My legs dangle happily over the arms, kicking back and forth with a level of idleness at the surroundings and the situation, almost of their own accord. I feel my gaze shift reflexively as the door slams open, filling me with a sudden wariness; when I see the bulbous, sweaty form of Todhe waddle in, the smirk on my face widens. It takes a minute for him to fit his massive girth into his already overlarge officious chair; he squeezes himself behind his desk and produces a silken white handkerchief, only to ruin it by wiping the grease off of his forehead.

"Don't sit like that in my chair," he begins, blustering and breathing heavily, "You're in my nice downtown office, not some bar or slum."

My smile widens as I readjust the spectacles that dangle off of my nose.

"You aren't hitting the right targets. My boss is getting a teensy bit peeved," I say brightly. His frown deepens, likening his physical appearance even more to that of a frog.

"_Your_ boss. Not mine," he fires back, "I told him that I would hit his targets. I didn't say I'd _only_ hit those targets."

I'm not entirely sure I like his tone. And it's not just the croaking dampness of his voice that irritates me. I pull one of the throwing knives from my bandoleer with an air of boredom, bracing it on top of my fingers and flipping it idly. The blade catches the sunlight and fires it into Todhe's eyes as it smoothly glides between the digits, causing him to squint and pull away. I know its impressive to slobs like Todhe, but this little trick is really just a way to amuse myself.

"What is this, a threat?" he asks aggressively, somehow leaning forward in his chair, "Are you threatening me with that little thing?"

I laugh, allowing the sounds to bubble chaotically from my throat and echo across the room as I stare at him. I can taste his fear. It floats through the air, heavy and thick, coating me in its cowardly fervor like a sweet cream. I can also see his hand drifting under the desk, and I know that it is gripping the handle of a small crossbow, tensed and ready to whip it into the daylight and end my life.

Scenarios start in my head: rapid alleviations of boredom, snappish moments of violence and intrigue. I can feel the knife warm in my hands at the idea of it disappearing into him, his facial features folding and condensing into a physical embodiment of his already prevalent terror. Could he whip the crossbow around before I fling the knife into his throat? Of course not. Could he get it pointed at me before I jump the table and stab him personally? Now _that_ sounds like a fun question to answer. But, alas, I have my orders, and my boss has always supplied me with plenty of fun. Hate to ruin a good thing.

"Threaten you, Todhe?" I ask, my good humor pulsing through my voice, "No fun in that. No fun at all. Killing you would be like stabbing a lump of dough, and how is that exciting? I'll tell you: it isn't!" With that the knife flies from my outstretched hand, singing a sweet melody as it suddenly reappears in the wood of Todhe's desk, centimeters from the arm that currently clutches the weapon. I begin to laugh again, sitting forward and clapping my hands excitedly. The sweat has begun to thicken on his face; it dribbles down his nose and splashes against the expensive wood of his furniture.

"No, Todhe, I'm just the sheepish little messenger kid, repeating what I've been told," I explain, reclining further into his chair, "And I've been told that you're not hitting the right targets. Like maybe you should start focusing on the list he gave you. Like maybe _soon_."

"Damn it, don't you _dare_ threaten me!" he blusters, somehow finding his manhood through the folds of decadence that coat his body, "_I _started the Family. _I _created it, _I've _maintained it, and damn it, I _am _the Family! This organization works for me, not your little boss. I took his little job for the _money_ and for no other reason, and I will do it when I am good and ready. You remember that _you_ have been assigned to work for me, and you will behave like _I _tell you to. And you can tell your little boss that his targets are next up on my list."

"Sheesh I'm bored," I sigh, rubbing a hand through my shaggy hair. I can feel my body begin to shake with the need to _act_, to _do _something, and I realize I can't sit in this stupid little chair for another second. "Fine, fine," I say, "Just start 'em. Start 'em quick."

* * *

Sokka of the Water Tribe:

"Are we almost there?" I ask as my arms come up behind my head. Passers-by continue to gawk at me, their curious gazes almost always drifting from my face to the blade slung over my shoulder, and I feel myself growing uncomfortable.

"Oh yeah, he's real close," Toph replies. Her pale hand drifts up to her nose, pulling and scratching at a particularly large speck of dust that's made its home there. I smile a little bit at her little wrinkled up face, scrunched with effort at her little activity.

"What are you staring at, Snoozles?" she asks stoically, as she pries the particle off and flicks it away, "You see something funny?"

"Just your face," I answer, semi-truthfully. My smile widens at my little witticism, but Toph doesn't seem to find it so funny. Her balled fist flies out of nowhere, catching my upper-arm and contributing to the permanent bruise that's been there since we've been a couple. I rub it tenderly as we approach our destination.

"He's in there," she says suddenly, causing me to stop and look. Pangs of confusion echo through me as I stare upwards at the building she is pointing at.

"This is _it_?" I ask, astonished.

The building is cobbled together with shabby brick of the same drab gray color that permeates this area of town. His wooden sign looks like it may have once been ornate and nice, but the forces of time and weather have ravaged it, fading the once bright green paint to a dull olive; the only way I can make out "The Dragon of the West" kanji is because the letters are elevated up and off of the wood. The tea must be amazing for this dumpy little place to have the reputation that it does.

"Looks fine to me," she adds grumpily, eliciting a sour look from me.

A pretty little hostess pulls the doors open as we approach, flashing a pleasant smile that goes very well with the vibrant red clothing she is adorned in.

"Table for two?" she asks, her voice dripping with work-related sweetness, "Or would you like to sit at the bar?"

I smile unsurely at her, put off by the obviously fake sugar that is laced into her every action, as I think up a response. Toph predictably cuts me off.

"Where's Zuko working?" she asks bluntly. The gruffness of her small voice mixes with the girl's artificial sweetness like salt with sugar, and my amusement becomes a bit more natural.

"Oh, he's always at the bar," she explains, as she pulls two menus from underneath her station. Her feet seem to glide against the floor as she leads us to the bar, located at the center of the restaurant. It's apparently a slow time of day; the seats surrounding it are sparsely populated by mostly worn looking workers, off of their shifts.

The stool rustles underneath me as I plop down, gliding my hand over the impossibly smooth black marble of the bar and glancing back and forth for any sign of him. The bar top squeaks underneath me, the thick finish protesting the oils of my skin, which mixes with the squeal of Toph's stool as she struggles to get her short frame atop it. Eventually she succeeds, planting her calloused and filthy foot atop the polished wood and scooting the little stool forwards. A plume of dust announces her success, though she seems not take notice; I do, and wave my hand furiously to bat away at the smoky cloud that flows in my direction.

"Where is he?" she asks, grabbing a hold of my arm and pulling it closer to her. I feel her body heat through the skin, which seems to translate into a furious blush that permeates my face. Somehow, I manage to glance around, and then, he appears.

He's cradling a stack of white porcelain teapots, focusing intently on the swaying, precarious pile. His balancing act proves successful as he eases them onto the bar, the ceramic squealing angrily as it is introduced to the new marble medium. He brushes long hair out of his face, exposing the tortured tissue of his left eye, and I begin to feel pangs of nostalgia. He looks the exact same as he did seven years ago, youthful, but harrowed. I smile to myself.

He approaches us, but his gaze is thoroughly focused upon a teapot; his back is doubled over as he inspects it, wafting the steam that pulses from the spout into his nostrils, breathing in the flavor and examining it. As he continues this process, the stoic expression, "What can I get you two?" comes from his lips.

I open my mouth to announce our presence, but, before I can, Toph exclaims "Gimme a cup of your darkest."

A broad, coy smile crosses my features as I realize what she is doing, and I play along. "I'll take some Jade with cream and honey." My hand comes up to rub her shoulder, but she brushes it lightly aside.

"Jade with cream and honey?" she asks incredulously, "Jeez, do you want him to tuck you into bed and read you a story, too? Let's get a cup of dreams and sunshine for Princess here."

My grin transforms into a bitter frown as she smirks, her impish little grin pushing up her cheeks and giving her a distinctly young look. I open my mouth to say something vicious in response, but before I can, I hear a familiar deep and scratchy voice.

"Sokka? _Toph_?"

My fervor is jerked from me as I turn and face him: I feel a rush of nostalgic joy as I see the bright smile of surprise that crosses across his face, culminated by an expression of joy and happiness that I've never seen in him. I take it back, he looks more youthful now than he did when I first met him.

His arms extend into a warm hug, reaching across the bar and insistently grabbing both of our shoulders; I almost pull away, more startled at the way in which his demeanor has changed then the imminent awkward hug. I feel the warmth of his breath as he brings us in, and the coarseness of his deep crimson shirt as he releases us, and I smile.

A bartender suddenly appears behind him, garbed in the characteristic black apron and crimson uniform, with a curious smile upon his face. Zuko suddenly whirls around to face him, clutching the ceramic teapot.

"Hey, Jubei, would you take over the bar for me?" he asks, forcing the pot into the man's outstretched hands. He glances up at the pair of us, his eyes flicking to the sword on my back, then to Zuko as a smile of comprehension decorates his face.

"Oh yeah, sure thing boss!" he says, clapping Zuko on the back, "It's slow around here anyways."

He leads us to a private room in the back, ornately decorated in the pale green of the Earth Kingdom and lacquered with complicated wooden designs. A table sits in the middle made of a dark polished wood; the chairs whisper noisily against the carpeted floor as we pull them out to sit on them. He places the three small cups lightly onto the tablecloth and immediately begins pouring tea into them, perfuming the air with the smoky scent of the steam and filling it with the rising tone of liquid dribbling into the little ceramics. Despite myself, I'm impressed with the grace in which this task is accomplished: not a drop is spilled upon the tablecloth or swilled over the side of the cups.

"You've really gotten into this," I say lightly, peering intently upon the deep brown liquid pooled in my cup. Toph reaches forward stoically and rips the cup from the table, bringing it to her lips and downing it in a gulp. I look over at her, waiting for the heat to burn her tongue, but to my surprise, she just smiles.

"Not bad, Zuko. Not bad at all," she says nonchalantly. Zuko smiles shyly as he reaches forward and picks up two small bowls of cream, and honey respectively. He carefully ladles the pure white milk into the tea, stirring it lightly until the cloud of white within it lightens the deep brown into a color a bit closer to my skin's.

"Some honey. For Princess," he smirks, as the tongue of golden honey oozes slowly into the cup. A burst of laughter suddenly jumps from Toph's mouth, as her hand flies into my permanently injured shoulder.

"This guy understands me!" she belts loudly, earning a glower from me. I cough loudly, leaning back into my chair as I begin to change the subject.

"So how has the little shop been treating you? You know, you're a hard man to find. I don't think we would have found you had we not heard the name of this place," I say, taking a sip. The tea is cool and sweet as it dribbles down my throat, the leaves placing a distinctive flavor, but not one that is overpowering. Toph was right: Zuko _is_ good at this.

"Yeah, the shop has been doing really well," he admits happily, running a hand through his hair, "Even with the crummy state of things, business has been up: good enough for me to keep my prices low. How about you guys? I heard that you were staying at the Palace, working as Enforcers for the Council. That's really something. I remember the Council. Some of those people are...difficult to get along with."

"Oh, yeah," Toph says with a grin, "We've been working with Councilman Tsung, trying to get him elected, but its tough. Out of the twenty members, he's really only got support from two others."

"Councilmen Farzu and Lo Dai," he says with a smile, "I've heard. I remember Tsung. He's a good guy. My uncle liked him a lot. He'll be a good Fire Lord."

"Yeah, we think so," I reply. Ok, the talk's gotten political. It's time to try and ask him. "Course, the real problem isn't the other Councilmen, it's the Family. They've been hitting all the right places to make sure that others in the Council are too scared to give Tsung any support, and keeping the raids suppressed has been really difficult. Plus, with the economy the way it is, people have flocked to support them."

Zuko stops drinking to look across the table at me, his expression suddenly wary, as if he knows where the conversation is heading; his eyes widen almost imperceptibly, causing the deep amber irises to pierce through me and pin me to the chair. I swallow a little bit as he speaks again.

"Do you know whose running it yet?" he asks coolly, setting the cup back onto the table.

"We're pretty sure its Todhe," Toph answers, digging a finger into her ear and scratching furiously, "You know, the business guy whose seemingly rich for no reason. But we've got no proof."

"Right," Zuko replies, "What are you two going to do? Do you have a plan?"

"Well," I begin, leaning forward and placing my elbows upon the table. Time to dive in. "We were wondering, to be honest, if you'd reconsider becoming the Fire Lord. I know you decided against it...but the thing is, you're a war hero. People love you, and the Council would have no choice but to elect you. You could bring some stability back here, and make things better."

He sighs, leaning backwards and allowing his head to sink down into a propped up hand. The familiar wariness returns to his features as he turns away from us, staring obliquely at the wooden carvings that adorn the walls, seemingly far, far away. I feel a tint of guilt begin in my stomach as I wait for the answer, allowing myself to take a glimpse at Toph. Her face is as staunch and unreadable as ever, but I see her toes curl up against the stone, exposing a glint of sadness that mirrors my own. We both hate to ask him this.

Suddenly, he looks back at the both of us, and allows his chair to glide forward, resting fully upon its four legs. His gaze is melancholy and distant, closer to the old Zuko than perhaps I care to return to, and I realize what he is going to say even before he says it.

"Is that the only reason you both came to see me?" he asks.

"Of course not," Toph says staunchly, her voice filled with the confidence of truth, "We've been looking for you for a long time, and not because of this. But times are desperate, and we thought it would be worth a shot." I look respectfully at my powerful little girlfriend, staring out into nothingness but emitting an air of authority and fortitude that permeates the entire room. She sure doesn't talk much, but when she does, its concise and to the point.

Zuko seems to accept this, as he starts to nod, and returns his gaze to the table. "Guys, I'm sorry. I don't know what to tell you, other than I just don't have the heart for it anymore," he says sadly, but firmly, his voice carrying the authority it's always had. "I'd just be a quick fix, like a bandage, and things would drop to how they are now, but more permanently. It's a bad idea, for both me and you."

"I know, and I know it isn't fair of us to ask you this," I admit, forcing more tea into my mouth to avoid looking at him, "But, like Toph said, we figured it was worth a shot."

"I'm sorry I can't help you," he admits, and the conversation ends. A silence drenched with awkwardness makes the room feel heavy around us, weighing down our brains as we attempt to figure out rational, well-thought-out things to say. My tongue begins to feel thick and leaden in my mouth; I glance over at Toph, but she merely stares obliquely into nothingness, giving no sign whatsoever that she registers the difficult situation. I watch Zuko's eyes pour back and forth over the room before the simplest, most dreadful banality worms its way from between my lips.

"So..." I begin, "Did you ever find the Palace to be a bit much? I mean, all the finery and space in our room always makes me feel a little out of place."

He glances up at me, the broken silence bringing out a motif of gratefulness that culminates into a small smile.

"Yeah, you know, I used to feel tha..."

His mouth stops in the middle of the short "a" sound, dangling open obliquely as his eyes widen, fixing us under a spray of solid amber. His gaze flits back and forth sporadically between me and Toph, who begins to shift uncomfortably in her chair. Her feet slide across the floor, prying a dull scraping noise from the heavy green carpet.

"What?" she demands, seemingly catching on before I do, "What's the matter?"

"'Our' room?" he repeats. A rude and wary index finger exposes itself from his relaxed hand, gesturing furtively between us as he begins to phrase his next sentence. "You two...you two aren't..._together_...are you?"

I can feel the muscles of my jaw lose all feeling, forcing my idiotic expression to match his one of confounded stupor. I become entirely unable to react as a furious heat begins in my cheeks and spreads to the rest of my face. Fortunately, Toph, as always, has a blunt answer tailor-made for the situation.

"Oh yeah," she responds easily, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "For about three years. Why?"

The corner of his mouth begins to spasm, twisting upward and downward at an astonishing rate. I watch intently, worrying that we have somehow broken him, before his chin begins to follow suit, the skin pressing against the bone with a seizure-like fervor. I lean forward as concern begins to etch its way into my flesh.

"Are you ok?" I ask dumbly.

A sudden falsetto twitter cracks explosively from his open mouth, causing me to jump with shock. It rebounds violently across the room, doubling my concern as my brows furrow intensely. I've never seen anything like this from him before, and I'm not sure what to make of it. More high-pitched bubbles fire from his throat as a hand clamps furiously against his mouth. Maybe he's choking?

I hear a short grunt from Toph: her signature signal of irritation, and I suddenly realize what's going on before she can even announce it.

"Are you done?" she asks, her voice sour with primed annoyance. He doubles over and the noises fly out, bursting forth with the intensity of a shattered dam. I feel my confusion slowly dissipate as the volume of his chirrups increases; he rocks back and forth, cradling himself as his face degenerates into violent seizures.

He's _laughing_.

"You're _laughin_g_,_" comes out of my mouth.

Slim dribbles of salt tears begin to well up at the corner of his eyes, jarred into existence by the extreme intensity of his giggling. "Oh...oh _spirits!_" he forces out, thrust between fits of mirth, "How...how have you not _killed_ each other yet?" The fits redouble in intensity, apparently causing his abdominal muscles to give out, as his body slumps loosely against the table. Ok, I am officially irritated.

"What? Why is that funny?" I ask, more than a little indignant, "Jeez, Zuko, I didn't even know you _could _laugh."

Now _that_ causes the fits to finally begin to subside. He rapidly begins breathing again, replacing the bubbling chirrups with loud and rampant hyperventilation. His expression slowly regains its familiar stoicism, stenciled on with the precision of an architect's blueprint.

"What? I can laugh," he insists, glancing between us. His voice has returned to its trademark deep and gravelly baritone, but rings with the slight tone of hurt feelings. "Why can't I laugh?"

"Because you're Zuko," Toph answers matter-of factly, kicking her chair off of the ground and balancing it on two legs, "I'm pretty sure that's the first time I've ever heard you laugh. Seriously, I can't think of another time."

"Yeah," I agree, before spitting out, "and why'd it have to be at us?"

Another smile crosses his features as he opens his mouth to speak, but he is interrupted by the loud squeak of the door handle swinging open. All eyes (minus Toph's) swivel in their heads to stare at the newly opened door, as the figure of a slim, pretty girl enters the room.

A sudden wave of surprise attacks me, beginning in my lower gut and extending up into my throat; I know this girl. I feel Toph's hand grip the cloth of my shirt tightly, further proving her presence somewhere in my memory. My gaze stays upon her in a manner that I'm sure must be very rude as I try to decipher who she could possibly be.

She crosses the room gracefully, her feet dancing across the floor with an upper-class sashay as she approaches Zuko.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" she asks. Her voice is singsong and her speech patterns are distinctively noble and well-educated. "The play is going to start soon. You promised you'd go with me!"

"I know, and I will," Zuko says sheepishly. I feel one curious eyebrow shoot up into the folds of my forehead as she leans down elegantly to kiss him, sending a soft, wet noise across the room.

"Wait, waitaminute!" I blurt caustically, drawing the couple's eyes directly upon me.

"You're Xiang! Farzu's daughter!" Toph all but yells, drawing out her index finger in an accusatory point at the pair, as though revealing some incriminating evidence. She's right! We've met her before, just outside of the Palace! I feel the pressures of a headache pound from the inside of my skull as I piece the scene together. Toph let's out a caustic "Ha!" as she slaps her left hand against her knee, enticing a baleful glare from the scarred Fire Nation warrior.

"Yes. So I am," she admits, utterly nonplussed, "And you two are Toph and Sokka, Zuko's old friends. Did you not know that we were together?"

"No!" Toph blurts out, "How long has this been going on?"

Zuko opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by a quick answer from Xiang. "About three years. I can't believe you didn't know about this!"

"Lady Farzu, we only just found out that he still lived in the Capital!" I retort, as my jaw hangs agape, swiveling back and forth as if the nerves have died, "This is incredible!"

The raspy whisper of a shy laugh flows from Zuko's mouth as he grins in acquiescence. "Umm, thanks, I guess," he adds, the words laced with bashfulness, "And I hate to interrupt the reunion, but I did promise her that I would go see the new play at the theater. You know it's about Aang?"

I let out a smile and begin a reply, but a sudden chiming echoes from the distance, breaking through the walls and forcing its way into our ears. My eyes widen in sudden fear as I realize that it is the Six O'Clock Bell, being tolled precisely on the dot. I manage a look at Toph immediately before she announces what it is that we're both thinking.

"The Council meeting! We're _late!_"

My eyes take in Zuko as we hurry to our feet, the images fully entering my mind nearly for the first time. The distinctive clothing of a tea salesman, loose and tucked in behind the elbows, vibrant crimson and white. The clean, pure white porcelain tea set that he lovingly and tenderly picks up from the table. The long, unkempt hair, the easy smile, and the loose and relaxed shoulders, but what strikes my gaze most of all are his eyes. Gone is the fury, the turbulent, violent anger that set fire to his golden amber eyes, the irises that seemed to focus his face into the center of a cyclone. These are the eyes of a happy man: soft, bright and yellow, still the center of his features, but now bestowing a feeling of utter placidity in me. It gushes up through my spine and into the back of my throat, culminating in a wide, contented grin.

His hand extends forward, and I take it.

"You two are always welcome in my shop," he says kindly.

* * *

Toph Bei Fong:

"Well, how'd it go?" I ask bluntly. The shuffling of feet and the soft whisper of robes pulse through the ground and into my feet, cluing me in as the Councilman Tsung turns around to face me. I feel his muscles tinge, prying his contemplative frown into a warm smile that is only belied by the lonesome rhythm of his heartbeat.

The pattering of Sokka's quickened steps and the catastrophic clatter of his sword pry my attention to him, sprinting (in his own gimp way) through the doorway, and into the room. He offers a hasty bow, accentuated by his panting breaths and the dribbles of sweat that drop hastily to the floor. Despite myself, I smirk.

"Well?" he asks, peering up towards the Councilman, "Any good news?"

Tsung's smile becomes more natural; I wonder to myself why it is that Sokka's awkward clumsiness always seems to have that effect on people.

"Well," Tsung begins, "Potential good news is all I have, I'm afraid. Councilman Derxu is still violently opposed to my campaign, and he still holds a considerable amount of sway. However, Ambassadors from the Earth Kingdom are due to arrive in about an hour, and I feel that if we can make an admirable impression upon them, we may win more support from the Council." His voice is deep and full, but fatigued, overflowing with the weight of a troubled, climactic life.

Councilman Tsung was an army brat, the son of a minor Fire Nation Corporal and his wife. He grew up with very little money, and eventually joined the Army, more as a matter of necessity than national pride. However, through his ability with numbers, he rose through the ranks and was eventually named Quartermaster General. His shrewdness eventually proved to work in the political arena as well as the martial one, and he became a Councilman.

We've known him for about a year, and he seems like the clear choice for the new Fire Lord. He's smart and stern, but fair and kind, as well: someone who will have the strength to pry the economy out of the hole it's in, but be good enough to earn the love of the people. Course, I don't know or care much about politics, but that's what Sokka and Aang say, so I'll stick to it.

"Ambassadors?" Sokka asks. I feel the skin of his inner elbow crinkle as he brings his hand to his face, and I know that he is stroking his ridiculous little beard, "This could be good... Or bad. What do you think, Tsung?"

"Well," he begins, "He said no, didn't he?" Our nods greet his words, and I can feel his facial features soften slightly, perhaps in disappointment, or perhaps in understanding. I can't tell.

"I've lived a life of turmoil and war," he begins, turning away from us and facing the window, "I've seen death and destruction on a grand scale, and I feel a sense of pride in the fact that, when I could, I stood up against it. For what was right. But that man, the young, scarred Firebender, has seen and been through more than I and all the other Councilmen _combined_. If anyone, anyone at all, has earned the right to enjoy a peaceful life free from the political and martial turmoil of running this country, it is him. That is what I think, and that is what Iroh thought, before the end. No one can withstand that much suffering and trepidation without serious repercussions upon the soul, and I will not infringe upon his right to lead an uneventful life. Nor will any other, while I stand in power. As it is, Sokka, and Toph, I think this is for the best."

Jeez. These old men and their speeches. I feel the sting of bile rising in the back of my throat at the ocean of sappiness that just dribbled out of his mouth.

"Yeah, right," I hear myself say, "Well, as long as you're ok with it. But me and Sokka need to go and prepare for the Ambassadors, plus we've still got to go meet with the other Enforcers. Got to keep that Family down, after all."

A warm and jovial smile crosses his worn, wrinkled features, carried by the vibrations of the shuffling wind into my feet. "Absolutely," Tsung replies, turning to face us, "It is vital, for all our sakes, that the Family's activity is minimized during the visit of our friends from the Earth Kingdom. I'll meet you later, at the Palace gates when they arrive."

Sokka nods at a rapid place, clearly eager to please, and manages another short, abrupt bow before his warm, calloused hand glides smoothly into mine and he pulls me across the floor and out of the room. I feel a burst of heat build up behind my cheeks as his fingers lace in between mine, transmitting his body heat and filling my head with the powerful image of him: his heartbeat, his muscle movement, the blood flowing through his veins. Course, I fill my face with an angry scowl at the way in which he's jerked me away. Wouldn't want him to get the right impression, after all.

"Let go of me, stupid!" I mutter, reluctantly prying my hand from his, and folding my arms, "I can walk by myself. _You're_ the one whose crippled."

He lets out a small sigh, and I know that the idiot is rolling his eyes, but it's accompanied by a small, unconscious smile, so I let it go. His pace is hurried, measured out by the broken rhythm of his gait, and the pride and dignity that straightens his back and elevates his chin. Despite myself, I feel a little rush of warmth and love that spikes up into my throat. Zuko's not the only one whose been through a lot, and Sokka deserves the pride that he feels. Course, once again, I'd never tell him that. Pride he deserves, but his ego is already far too big, and I'd hate to stroke it for him.

The sudden flutter of feet to our right draws my attention away from Sokka and into the adjacent hallway. Familiar heartbeats own the pair of feet that glide towards us; the footfalls of one are light and speedy, almost like that of a gymnast, while the other's are unhurried and shuffling, carrying a transparent air of boredom. Sudden realization flies through me like a hurricane.

"Ooh, it's _you!_" a light, airy voice coos across the room, carried by the unmistakable, lithe body of our former opponent. "I haven't seen _you _in forever!" She rushes ahead of her companion, speeding immediately by me and bringing her flighty attention upon the suddenly nervous form of Sokka, whose heartbeat increases significantly. I feel the scowl begin in my eyes and quickly spread its way across my entire face, clenching each muscle almost involuntarily as it makes its way down.

"Uh, hi Ty Lee," Sokka says nervously, leaning away from her as she quickly violates his personal space, "Hi, Mai. Are you two the other Enforcers we were supposed to meet?"

Mai's walk does not speed up as she slithers towards us, unmotivated and untroubled. "Yeah. It's us. I didn't know you two were the others. That's mildly interesting," she says, though the tone and inflections of her voice beg to differ. Just feeling her slow, uncaring heartbeat in my feet inspires a boredom and lethargy that eats away at my energy, pulling me down and depressing me at an alarming rate.

"I just _love_ your new soul patch!" Ty Lee declares, ignoring the conversation going on around her. Suddenly, and without warning, her hand glides up into my boyfriend's chin, caressing the hair of his idiotic little beard as she leans much closer than I am even slightly comfortable with her doing. The cat-like growl bursts out of my throat unconsciously as a cold, fierce rage sends heat to my face, mirroring the nervous and uncomfortable blush that decorates Sokka's. My foot is in the air and slamming downward before I even realize it, spreading through the veins of marble that decorate the Palace floor and sending a pillar of ornate, overly polished stone underneath her tiny little feet. She flies up, carried by the vengeful fury of my Earthbending, before, somehow, landing adroitly; the whooshing noises of wind that reach my ears during the feat reveal the artful flips she surely executes, which only serve to deepen my anger.

"Uhh... I'm kinda involved with Toph," Sokka stammers dumbly as the floor reforms into its previous flat self. He scratches his head in a manner that is utterly unsatisfactory to me as Ty Lee's gaze flicks between us, clearly attempting to register this new information.

"What?" she asks dumbly. I note with some satisfaction that her voice has lost a bit of its flutter. "You two? You two aren't..._together_...are you? That can't be!"

"Can and is, Princess," sputters moodily from my mouth. The way her arms drape loosely at her sides sends a rush of angry pleasure up my spine as Mai turns her head towards us. A short snort, the pathetic attempt at laughter pried from the nostrils of someone who is utterly bored with life in general, sends vibrations that echo dramatically across the halls.

"Now _that_ is interesting," she says in her distinctively slow drawl, "Maybe you aren't as boring as I thought." Both Sokka and I open our mouths to reply, but we are quickly silenced by a raised hand on her part.

"No, shut up, let's not start," she declares, leaning against the wall, "We have some business to do, and I don't want to waste time with reunions or bickering. You two concentrate your efforts on keeping the Family suppressed here in the center of the city, and Ty Lee and I will keep the problems to a minimum in the outer areas, ok? Is that all? Are we done here?"

I mimic her pose, leaning up against the solid stone of the wall, and folding my arms moodily underneath me. Sokka's mouth opens, accompanied by an index finger raised to gesticulate a point, but he falters, clearly unable to come up with any witty retort. Instead, the hand falls loosely to his side and he says "Uhh, yeah. I guess so," with an air of defeat.

"Good," Mai responds, and with that, she turns on her heal and begins walking back in the direction from whence she came. Ty Lee plods behind her loyally, turning her obnoxious head around to catch one last glimpse of us as they disappear further into the ornate gloom of the palace. I feel her voice echo across the hall as she exclaims "Every time, _every _time, without fail! Every time I see him, he's with someone! Unbelievable!"

I think I'm going to hate her.

* * *

The open courtyard by the south entrance to the Palace can be described in one word: massive. The solid iron walls, with their ridiculous height emphasize the overall largeness of the palace grounds, shrubbed in occasional greenery that spurts out every now and again between the blocks of well-kept stone. It's impossible not to feel small while standing in it, and as I feel the ridiculous enormity of the thirty-foot iron doors that stand closed before us, I can't help but understand. I shuffle my feet idly as we wait for the Ambassadors' arrival, which will supposedly occur at any moment; Sokka fills the feeling of smallness in the only way he knows: by talking.

"Why do they always laugh?" he asks.

"What?" I ask irritably, echoing the grumpiness that I feel at his too-close encounter with Ty Lee.

"They're always surprised," he explains, ignoring the tone of my voice, "When they find out we're together, I mean. Why is that?"

I let out an exasperated huff; the heat from my own breath tickles my nose as it escapes into the atmosphere. "I blame _you_, Meathead," I respond, "People are shocked I can tolerate you being so dumb. And it doesn't help when you flirt with big-boobed floozies."

I feel his eyes widen in a mix of shock and incredulity; a small spark of satisfaction begins in my stomach at the rise I've gotten out of him.

"How could you possibly know that she has-"

"Because you just told me, stupid," I retort, not even bothering to listen to the rest of his question. His eyes narrow as he becomes more and more flustered, accentuating his bristling hair as he attempts to find his voice and riposte.

"Ok, first of all," he begins, his voice high-pitched and indignant, "I wasn't _flirting_! For someone who can supposedly feel out people so well, you apparently have the perception of a retarded baby moose-lion! And second of all, I'm pretty sure that they can't believe that _I_ can put up with _you_! You're this bundled up ball of violence and grumpiness, who solves everything with the all the finesse of a caveman!"

"You wanna see a bundled up ball of violence, Snoozles?" I spit back at him, shifting my feet dangerously against the dusty stone, "Because I can show you! Just say that one more time!"

He opens his mouth to attack again, but the sudden creaking of the overlarge gate grips our attention. It slowly swings open, revealing the caravan of servants that surround the ambassadors; the procession moves forward to meet us, sending out a multitude of vibrations that reveal the scene. I feel the men lower the palanquin to the ground, feel the sudden contact of wood on stone, and I turn staunchly to begin the formal introduction.

Two pairs of shoes lower from the cushioned luxury of the palanquin to press against the ground; two pairs of heartbeats, echoing out against the...

Wait.

I recognize these heartbeats.

The muscles between my eyes tighten as my mind races furiously, struggling to place the enigmatic beats. Both are dignified and erudite; each step exudes an aura of aristocracy that washes over the ground like waves crashing against stone, immersing us in their nobility more and more with every passing second. They are so familiar: the heartbeats and movements echo across the back of my mind like a long-passed memory, strung together by association but almost from a different lifetime.

_Different lifetime..._

No.

Oh no.

It couldn't be.

Sokka's hand tightens painfully upon my shoulder as comprehension dawns on him, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt the arrival of my worst nightmare. I can feel smiles upon their faces, a man, and a woman.

"...Mom? Dad?"

* * *

**A/N:** Alright, after all the trouble of yesterweek, it's all here! I sure hope it was worth the wait, haha. I guess one thing I really want to communicate here is about my reasons for changing Zuko so drastically. Basically, I want him happy, and the moment in the series that I found him to be the happies was in season 2, right before he and Iroh were summoned to the castle. There, he was serving tea, and had some moments of peace and tranquility that resulted in smiles and brightness. I guess that's what I was trying to capture here, but please, let me know if you think it works!

I had a lot of fun writing Mai and Ty Lee into the story here. I love their characters from the show (careful not to leave me any spoilers, I haven't seen anything past the Day of Black Sun, and I hear they feature prominently in the Boiling Rock!) and writing them made me smile a bit.

Enter the Bei Fongs! Yes, you thought right, the Ambassadors from the Earth Kingdom are none other than Mr. and Mrs. Bei Fong! I really love these little twists, and I sure hope it works well for y'all!

For those of you who liked him, yes, Jiro the Mouse will return later on, so don't worry! For those of you who didn't, sorry! And yes, Singe and Todhe are going to show up later. I would really like to talk about Singe, but I can't, because I don't want to spoil anything about him.

Special thanks again to Lord Esquire, my Beta, whose done an absolutely phenomenal job helping me with all of this, and a double thanks for all of you who waited for Chapter 2! The story's just starting, and I'm optimistic about where its going to go. Keep reading!

Superbleh11

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I know, it's a bit late, but that was actually by design, lol. I'm going to start posting on Saturday Mornings instead of late Friday Nights for scheduling reasons.

Chapter 3

Sokka of the Water Tribe:

"Sokka? Are you in there?"

The voice drifts through me like the wind, effervescent and nonsensical. The canoe drifts easily on the calm, cool water, floating lazily across the lake as I pull the rod back out of th water. I've got a long line set on it, accustomed to the deep water, which I expertly handle around the fragile skins of my canoe. A quick flick of my wrist casts the line out; the baited hook flicks out artfully through the air, colliding with the calm lake and drifting slowly downward. My practiced eyes gaze intently upon the cork as it settles, pulled half into the water by the weight of my lure.

"Sokka? Wake up! Geez, gimme a break..."

Annoyed now by the irritating insistence of this voice in my mind, I bring my hand angrily across the side of my head, hoping to pound it out. A sudden movement down underneath me causes me to stare down into the water by my little canoe. A little smile replaces my irritation as I stare down into the blue below me, marveling at the clarity of the water. I can see the quick, furtive movements of the fish below me; seeming to dance ever closer to the trap I've set for them. I only have to wait.

Suddenly, my gut cries out in pain, jerking me into a doubled-over position. My eyes shut firmly at the shock, tightened against the sudden, solid hurt. My feet clatter against pavement, causing..

Wait...

Pavement?

My eyes slowly come open, causing me to squint at the blaring sunshine that licks out in between the parting lids. The scenery has changed drastically from the peaceful serenity of the fishing lake. I see the dark steel monoliths that paint out the buildings around us, see the cosmetic shrubbery artfully skittered around the grounds. The noises of Fire Nation birds, singing and flitting through the air accost my ears, accompanied by the odor of freshly cut grass, which replaces the round, slightly pungent aroma of fishing tackle.

"Sokka? Are you there?"

It's Toph, walking beside me. Her eyes stare obliquely out into nothingness, but her slight frown, and the firm way in which her fist is planted against my ribs alights me to her certain anger.

"What... what's going on?" I ask, nervous and slightly scared by the sudden re-entrance into reality.

"I think...I think you somehow blacked out while walking and talking," she answers, slowly allowing my skin to reform around my belly by withdrawing her clenched hand, "My parents showed up, and your heartbeat started firing off really fast, but as you were talking to them, it suddenly slowed drastically and it was like you weren't all there."

"I...I was fishing," I add lamely, pulling a dramatic sigh from her.

She mercifully allows the conversation to die as we head for our room, lavish and austere. The silence around us allows my head to slowly come to grips with the happenstance. Slow snippets of memory flash across my consciousness, taking me back. Yes, I remember now.

I saw the slightly familiar faces, a memory from what seems like a lifetime ago, so far away and so distant that it took me several moments to fully realize who it is they were. I saw painted smiles upon their face, rife with political intelligence, and I felt my gut begin to shrink. I said the formal, banal little pleasantry that I was instructed to say, and then... I guess I went fishing. Oh boy...

I sure hope I didn't make an utter fool of myself. The pangs of dread and fear wash across my chest, alighting me to the inescapable truth that this will not end well.

Toph falls more than sits in a chair as we enter our room. I slowly, carefully lay down upon our couch, still a bit taken out by the sudden rush of reality. Another soft whisper of a sigh escapes her lips, and I know that it is time to talk.

"So... What happened?" I ask.

"Well, first off, don't freak out, because you actually did pretty well," she begins, "Somehow, with your brain turned off, you managed to be courteous and polite." All I can do at that news is breath a little sigh of relief, which she seems not to register as she continues. "The problem is, you invited them to dinner."

"They came over to us and gave me a hug, and then we all started talking. I mentioned that you were my boyfriend, which they didn't act surprised about, but their heartbeats started firing off wildly. Then, you invited them to dinner, which is tonight at about seven."

Done talking, she slouches further into her couch, placing her hand despondently into her hands. I sit up, thinking furiously about the impending doom of dinner. Is there any way out of it? Should we run for it? Will it really be that bad? I don't know.

Worried, I ask her, "What do you think? You know them better than I do."

Her ears twitch slightly as she thinks, leaning forward to match me as her shrewd and cunning mind begins to turn. Time passes as she works things out, apparently stretching backwards into her system of memories to draw out the important ones. I wait patiently for her, understanding my own inadequacy at dissecting the situation. I can't help but marvel a bit at how the tables have turned.

"Well," she begins, "The parents I remember won't like you. Not because of anything you've done or the way you are or anything, but because you're not rich and they didn't pick you for me. Now they won't try anything direct like they have in the past, because here, we're more important than they are, and they don't have access to anything that could change that."

My eyes stare out into space as I try to sift through the information. "Well... The Bei Fongs that I remember, though I obviously didn't know them as well as you do, wouldn't sit by and do nothing. But what can they really do?"

She starts suddenly, and her head cranes upward, registering upon some unseen answer. "They can be political," she answers, drifting back lazily, "That's what they're going to do. Listen, Sokka, whatever happens after tonight, whatever they may say or insinuate, you have to know that it isn't true."

I look at her, a little surprised, but not necessarily worried. "Whatever they say or insinuate? Toph, they're just words. It's not like they're going to be able to talk us out of a relationship."

She doesn't move, or change her posture, just sits looking fearful and worried as she says, "Sokka, you don't know my parents. They're political geniuses, that's why they're as rich as they are. They're going to rip into you at dinner tonight, I just know that they will, but you have to harden yourself against it."

Now I'm starting to get worried. She pushes herself out of the chair and slowly walks over to the couch by me, sitting down with a slight hiccup of leather. Her arms snake around my waist as she leans against me, resting her head solemnly against my chest. Ok, scratch that, I'm officially terrified.

My arms wrap behind her, drawing her into a tight hug as she says, "Listen, whatever they say... It isn't true, and I don't believe it. We've been together for awhile...that means something. Just hold onto that."

I'm shocked into speechlessness. Words fail to come out of my mouth as she cuddles into me with a tenderness that is unusual and more than a little frightening coming from her. I feel the need to comfort her, to kiss her on the forehead and tell her everything will be ok, but I realize the nature of a platitude like that, and I know it won't help. I have to cheer her up, and there's only one way that I know how.

"Oh, relax," I say, filling my voice with unfelt arrogance and pride, "I can handle it. I don't think you're giving me enough credit!"

She groans as she sits back upwards; a small smirk alights my face as I see the cute little frown that crosses hers. "Don't be an idiot, Sokka," she warns, folding her arms dangerously, "Or I'm going to harden you the difficult way. And you won't like that."

I let a little snort fire from my nostrils as I reply, "Oh please! I dare you, _short stuff_." I see her eyebrows shoot up, giving me a slight warning as to the impending suffering headed my way; it gives me just enough time to do anything but react.

Her hand goes from safely folded in her arms to firmly lodged within my ribs in a fraction of a second. I see a blur of pale flesh and green tunic as it happens, crashing into my already bruising stomach and knocking me forcefully from the couch. A malicious grin alights my face at the prospect of the upcoming fight, but as I attempt to pull myself up, her foot slams against the ground. Firm pavement turns into liquid underneath me, dragging my hands and feet into the solid pool and trapping me in its cold earthen embrace.

I struggle futilely against my concrete prison, nearly stretching my arms out of socket as Toph lazily sidles from the couch to the floor. Her bare feet slap meatily against the ground as she pads out to meet me, leaning downwards so that her face is mere inches away from mine.

"What did you call me, gimp?" she asks sweetly. I open my mouth to say something vicious in reply, but as I breathe inwards to pull the words from my throat, her weight shifts, and I feel the ground tighten viciously against several areas that I would rather not mention. Pain explodes up through my stomach, stifling the words in my mouth and causing them to go into hiding. My demeanor changes with the speed only desperate pain can bring as I choose my next words carefully.

"Uhh..." I force out, through clenched teeth, "I called you... uhh... Sweet heart?"

The pressure subsides, and the sheer relief that cascades through my body causes my muscles to slack unresponsively, and as the Earth guides me back onto solid ground, I slump backwards, limp as a rag doll. My own heavy breathing accosts my ears as her grinning face appears in my field of vision.

"That's what I thought you said, darling," she says, patting me lightly on the stomach, "You're just lucky that you're cute."

My brain is immediately awash with questions as to how she could have reached this conclusion, lacking sight as she does, but I trade the vocalized question for a little witticism, saying instead, "Well, you're just lucky that you can beat the crap out of me."

The muscles in my abdomen flex harshly, bringing me up to a sitting position as I gaze upon her. The raven black hair that contrasts so sharply with her pale skin has fallen askew, framing her milky blank eyes with a mischievous aura. A cheeky, impish grin fights its way between her cheeks, alighting her face with a youthfulness that is anything but innocent.

"And don't you forget it!" she smirks.

A warm wash of love and affection replaces pain at the forefront of my mind, eliciting an unconscious, happy grin to match hers. Sokka, you may have all the social graces of a Platypus Bear, but if there's one person in the world that you know how to cheer up, its that little blind Earthbender.

Xiang Farzu:

"Shh," I coax him, cradling him over my shoulder and patting his back affectionately. My baby brother wails piteously, dribbling hot, wet, irritated tears into the folds of my shirt. Suddenly, an unbelievably loud belch dribbles wetly from his throat, accompanied by the pungent aroma of half-digested baby food. I can't help but smile a little bit as his caterwauling instantly subsides, drifting seamlessly into a curious, tired sigh.

I lower him back into the cradle, casually brushing the leftover saltwater from my shoulder and grinning down upon him. Iroh stares inquisitively up at me, his lips wet and slimy, his hands and feet suspended awkwardly in the air. If there's anything more adorable than little infants, I think my head would explode upon seeing them.

I wait until his eyelids start to droop before leaving him to sleep, exiting through the casual wooden door and moving happily out. Our house is a lot less gaudy and pompous than a lot of the other Councilmen's, slightly large but noticeably without decoration. We decided long ago that we would donate the money that would have been spent on aesthetic frivolities, hoping to help stimulate the economy and keep things active in this desperately poor country.

Of course, I can't complain. My life has been anything but difficult, born into wealth and raised by loving parents with strong senses of right and wrong. Maybe that's one of the reasons I am so drawn to Zuko; he did not have the care of his parents in the way that I did. Maybe I want to care for him in a way that few ever have. It makes sense, but I know there is more too it than that.

"Have you been threatened?"

The voice catches me off guard, jutting prolifically from behind a thin wooden door. It is the gravelly, tired voice of Councilman Tsung, but what truly draws my attention is the weight with which it is asked, drawn with utter severity.

A sigh whispers through the door, barely fighting through, but doing so with enough force to relay the clear voice of my father. He says, "Of course we have. It's always the Family. But we can't let fear impede us from doing what is right."

"I agree," Lo Dai's voice follows, thin and reedy, just like always. "Besides, our current Enforcers have done an admirable job keeping the raids down. I truly believe that we will all be just fine."

Just fine? I wasn't aware of any threats our family had received, and I feel pangs of worry begin to strike up and down my spine. What if somebody does something to Iroh?

"I know." Tsung's voice now. "I just worry for you, Farzu, because you have a full and happy family. Maybe we should increase the guard detail around your home."

The sudden, staccato burst of a hand slapping wood starts me, making me jump backwards from my eavesdropping. It is immediately followed by a burst from my father.

"No!" he says, "Tsung, I have stood by you through the War, and through much worse than this. I will not be afraid of some glorified group of thugs! We will be fine, and we have more important things to divert our resources to."

I fall back against the far wall, digesting the information and struggling to come to grips with it. I had never really thought much about the possibility that our lives could actually be in danger, that the Family was that politically organized. Yet, there it is. Dad has received threats. I'm not sure what to be more upset about, the fact that our lives have been threatened, or the fact that Dad failed to relay that fact to us.

I'll tell Zuko. I'll ask what he thinks. He's been through things like this before, and he will know how to handle it. It seems like the only logical course of action.

Toph Bei Fong:

My feet shuffle nervously against the excruciatingly polished and oiled marble underneath me; not an action that I am used to performing. Sokka sits beside me, and even though his chair is made of wood, I can feel him shaking slightly, struggling to maintain an air of austerity and formality that he is, at best, unaccustomed to, and at worst, completely incapable of performing. The clock sends out the thin, musical vibrations of a small chime, alerting us as to the hour.

My parents are due any minute.

He lets out a worried sigh, long and drawn out, mixing with beads of cold sweat that drip from his forehead. Suddenly the image of him is fully clarified as he places his feet flat upon the ground, giving my perceptions entrance into his body. I feel the warm smile that he gives me, and I know that the action was specifically for my benefit.

"I got some really high-end gourmet stuff for this evening," he tells me, trying to mask his terror behind a facade of good humor, "Well, I had some help. But, see, I know it was gourmet because the portions are tiny, they taste really weird, and they cost about as much as a small house."

I let out a little chirrup of laughter, staccato and clearly forced, but he seems to take it with a grain of salt. Sudden motion outside of the room jerks my attention away, bringing my feet to a sliding shuffle as I get a better view of them from inside my mind.

I can _feel _the finery draped around them, feel the silk dragging smoothly against the ground, feel the thickly cushioned satin soles of their shoes, and the unhurried calm of their respective heartbeats. Coming through this door are surely my mother and father as I remember them, geared for the attack and ready to pounce. Memories flash through my mind of an overprotective father, filled with cunning intelligence and a razor-sharp understanding of politics, yet completely incapable of understanding humanity, even his own flesh and blood. A doting, loving mother, whose affection becomes drowned out by irrational fear and smothering devotion. I feel pangs of regret mix with the sadness and frustration at a wasted, unhappy childhood.

The frustration only culminates as I hear the doors open, sending out large, slow vibrations that give me a clear picture of their faces. Both are cloaked in severity, masked behind a regal aura of perfect political behavior, and I realize that, once again, they are going to attempt to destroy one of my few sources of happiness. A mask wraps itself around my made-up, powdered face, one of enough power to match that of my parents.

"Hello, Mr and Mrs Bei Fong," Sokka says regally, standing and offering a deep bow, "I am pleased that you deigned to meet with us on this fine evening."

Good. The rehearsed introduction. From here on in, I'm going to try and steer the conversation, preventing Sokka from being pulled into the fire of my Dad's rigid questioning.

"Please, Master Sokka, call me Lao," Dad replies.

"Daughter, it's been far too long," Mother says, nodding in my direction. She hasn't even mentioned him, a curt way to get his mind worrying.

I take a short breath, inhaling the cool air as I prepare to delve into a world that I have all but forgotten. The stupid aristocratic banter.

"It really has, Mom," I say, "You guys have been getting my letters, though, right?" I'm careful to keep my voice light and airy, avoiding the more commanding tone of my parents. If I play this angle, I can show affection. Plus, my bringing up the letters brings to the table that I have not completely abandoned them, nixing any attack they could make on those grounds.

"Oh, Toph, of course we have," Mom says, placing her hand lightly over mine, "We've poured through them. News of your circumstances has kept us going through these long years."

Hmm... That's not too good. Makes me seem like the bad guy again. But it's not aimed at Sokka, which is what I'm trying to gear us away from. They can attack me all they want, accuse me of anything, but Sokka is the one that needs to be protected. I know that if Dad can manage to get inside him, just a little bit, he'll destroy him, eating away his confidence and self-image.

Dinner progresses lightly this way, the conversation maintained upon me and my parents, focused largely on small-talk and our gratefulness at the reunion. Sokka wisely keeps his big trap shut, nodding at the correct times, and smiling at the correct times, but venturing nothing forward that might allow Dad to shift the conversation in his general direction.

Well, that is, until...

"Mr. Sokka," Dad says through a momentary lull, piercing the introduction through a tiny silence with the precision of a surgeon, "What news do you have of the Avatar? I understand that your sister is his fiancé; surely you must be better informed than most."

I feel Sokka tense up noticeably at the direct question: stuck behind the line of fire and unable to make a correct move. He coughs slightly, a slight hiccough jarred from his throat; it is seemingly innocuous, but rife with a sense of weakness that I know my father will attempt to exploit. My toes clench up underneath the table as I pray inwardly, idly picking up a lonesome mushroom with my chopsticks.

"Um," he begins, straightening his back and forcing his eyes to my father's, "Well, they're currently in Dai Tso, holding off the Loyalist army until the main forces from Ba Sing Se can arrive. I'm afraid that communication has been a bit difficult, largely because the city is under siege."

"Under siege," Dad says, tasting the words and swilling them around in his mouth, "That sounds like quite a dark situation. Why do you suppose that they left you two behind? It seems to me that they would have needed you quite desperately."

Uh oh. He's starting. I shift my feet, but Sokka still seems fine; his even heartbeat is indicative of guarded defenses and hardened emotions. I feel a pang of warmth and love echo through me, marveling at his strength and his ability to remain calm. He understands that I'm stuck, that I can't keep my father's attention away from him any more, yet he has managed to keep himself steady and prepared.

"Well, sir," he says calmly, apparently unfazed, "Unfortunately, with the current Reconstruction of the Fire Nation, Aang felt that we were needed here, to represent him and help turn the chaos that this country has fallen in around."

Good! That's a solid answer! A small smile alights my face, but before I can shift the direction or congratulate him, Dad is upon him again, stagnating the conversation, forcing it into his corner, upon _his_ terms.

"No, I understand that," he clarifies, gesturing warmly into the air, "I just wish to know why hhe would leave _you_ behind? Surely he feels the need to protect his fiancé, to leave her in a position where she will be safe and unharmed, yet he brought her to the field of battle. I suppose I just don't understand the reason. Blindness aside, after all, Dai Tso cannot be short-supplied of Earthbenders, so I can understand him leaving my daughter here, but why you?"

He has no answer. I don't either. I struggle to think of something to say, anything at all to abrupt the attacks that are about to occur upon my boyfriend's psyche.

"You know, dear, that's a good question," Mom adds lightly, filling her voice with a motherly warmth that belies the viciousness of her next words.

"I mean, surely, you are an accomplished man. You have fought for the Avatar's cause for years! You have sustained a terrible wound yet you _clearly_ have managed to overcome the effect it should have on you. You still fight for a living, even with a disability! I suppose that I just don't understand why he would take his fiancé into battle, yet leave behind the strategist."

Vicious, callous, and awful, rife with painful slashes across his confidence and horrifying wounds to his vitality; these are the actions of my parents, undoubtedly seeking to protect me, to take me back underneath their wing. I can palpably feel his heart sink downwards, hear the questions of doubt fire back and forth through his head, needlessly planted there by unkind words. He has nothing to say, he lies there defeated, harmed worse by that than by any blast of fire.

Ideas wrack through my mind, facts that can answer the question fully and completely. I know that what they're insinuating isn't true, and so should Sokka. I work the sentence out peace by peace in my head, careful to eradicate any holes that could be exploited by my canny parents. His strategic ability is needed here more than bending, his ability to think on his feet is more apt to a situation such as this, Aang and Katara are both good at strategy and smart enough to hold off the impending forces... No. Each one is susceptible to attack, and might only worsen the situation.

Sudden motion draws my attention back to the door, the quick, furtive steps of a sprinting man, pounding the ground and sending vibrations so thick that they expose the entire room, ceiling and all, to my perception. Sure enough, as I turn my head to better my reception, the doors slam open, forced apart by a Fire Nation soldier.

"Mr. Sokka! Ms. Bei Fong! There's been an attack!" he blurts out, jamming a knife through the manners and formality of the evening, "We think its the Family! We need your help immediately!"

Sokka rises to his feet. He looks at Dad, then at Mom, then at me, before turning on his heel and following the stricken soldier.

I know how fragilely he clings to his self-confidence. I know how sensitive he is about being unable to bend, like his compatriots. I know how hard he works, and how much he struggles to keep up, maintaining himself as a worthy member of the team. It is all grand nonsense, he is valuable by virtue of being himself, but it makes him feel better to work harder, so we've always encouraged it.

Yet Lao and Lily Bei Fong have managed to rip that away from him, to throw him back into a cycle of self-doubt and unsureness that he had pulled himself out of.

I rise to my feet to follow him, preparing to rip out of the ridiculous finery as soon as I get out the door and follow him. I can only hope that this crisis ends ok; if it doesn't, well... I just hope it does. No matter what, now is the time that he needs to shine, and believe in himself

"Toph!" Mom's voice proclaims, catching me as I approach the ornate iron door. I stop, waiting.

"Daughter," Dad says, "I hope... That at some point, while we are here... You will come and visit us. So we can talk about things."

My hand catches the handle of the door, more taking my weight and supporting me than preparing to pull it open. Memories flash through my mind, of the grinning boy who took me into the world, who rescued me from a life of practical slavery. Who dove in front of a plume of fire to save my life.

"Anything you want to say to me," I answer coldly, "can be said in front of him."

Singe, a Family Man:

The night sky drapes heavily over the backdrop, burst apart by a light, happy moon. I squint slightly into the brightness of the oracle, pulling off my glasses and rubbing them furtively against a cleaning cloth. A grin alights my face as I tuck it back under my bandoleer, a grin that I am almost sure matches the luminous white hue of the full moon.

The marks stand out by the gate of the mansion, staunch and upright in their martial stoicism. I take a quick note of the pikes they hold cast upright, and feel rushes of anticipation and pleasure creep up my spine. If they're allowed long weapons such as these, then they must be a part of the military! Hopefully veterans. They'd better not disappoint.

Their eyes come upon me as I approach, four pairs, waiting in guarded curiosity. It would be nothing at all to send four blades into their four open throats and end it quickly, but that's boring. And I will not stand to be bored.

"Sir, what is your business here?" the more ornately armored one asks.

My cheeks feel like they split apart under the powerful, natural grin that comes across them.

"I'm here to kill you," I announce truthfully.

Two daggers snake out from the bandoleer slung across my chest and forms in my clenched fist, as I slide my left foot forward. I feel the heat on my face from the flame that alights both of my hands, encapsulating the daggers. I can hear the shuffling of footsteps and the scuffling noises of metal being drawn as the four men charge. That's it then! The action has begun!

A small chuckle alights my throat as I let the flame creep up the edge of the throwing knife, fully taking it over and superheating it, before it flies out of my left hand, almost of its own accord. The man charging to my left grunts lightly as the knife embeds itself in his pike, throwing his balance off and lifting the point upwards. Then, with a loud pop, the dagger explodes.

Oh, how remiss of me! To describe without explanation! My daggers are specially made by me, with a hollow cavity near the base of the knife. It's a little trick I picked up years ago; letting my Firebending superheat the blade makes the pressure in the cavity so intense that, after a short time, the knife explodes in a rain of shrapnel.

Splinters mix with deadly shards of twisted metal, raining down upon the four men whose shrieks now alight the night sky. The one with the ruined pike goes down, I see a hefty blade of destroyed wood embedded in his throat as his knees give way, and he collapses.

Their eyes are alight with fear now, illuminated by the firelight; they slow, warily make moves to circle me. Blood dribbles down all of their bodies, blood spurned by the thin tendrils and sharp fragments of metal, painting their crimson armor an even deeper shade of red. I keep the flame away from the dagger, keeping it cool enough to stay intact, waiting for the marks to make the next move.

The leader suddenly thrusts with his pike; he's good, the spearhead reaches me in a sudden brownish blur, almost ripping into my torso. Almost.

My leg kicks out reflexively, looping over the sudden burst of wood and death as my other foot takes flight, suddenly enshrouded in fire as it crashes angrily into his head. His head snaps back, accompanied by the clatter of his armor as he falls to the ground, clutching his ruined face. The living, breathing flame then finds its way around the dagger as I spin around, just in time to witness one of the two left swinging his pike like an overgrown quarterstaff. I grab the haft, jerking him forward into the molten knife blade; his armor melts away before the dagger, and his eyes give me a look of pure, mortal terror as my knees spring me backwards into a flip.

The doomed man has only time to bow his head before the knife explodes in his chest, shattering his armor and destroying his stomach in a rain of molten hot, skittering metal. Two staccato beats, like those of a snare drum, accompany his fall to his knees, and his collapse to the pavement.

My gaze turns to the lone survivor, whose body has begun to shiver palpably. He lets out a pathetic whimper as I pry two more throwing knives from my bandoleer and advance upon him; thick, greasy drops of sweat dribble down his face as his jaw quivers up and down, as though trying to figure out what to do next.

"Wait... wait! Please, mister, I can leave! I'll leave the city, I'll never come back!" he pleads, drawing a light, airy giggle from me. "Just give me a chance! I won't tell anybody!"

My laughter intensifies, becoming louder and more falsetto as the pike drops noisily to the ground. He turns on his heel and begins to sprint away, his echoing footsteps bursting forth from the pavement with rapidly lightening volume.

The first knife flies gracefully from my hand, digging deeply into the back of his left knee.

His armor makes a terrible scraping sound as he collapses, skidding horribly against the cobblestone pathway. The cry of pain that flies from his throat quickly turns into sullen, desperate weeping, manifested in salty teardrops that dribble from his face to stain the ground.

He tries to say something, tries to, perhaps, plead again for his worthless life as I appear over him, casually flipping the remaining blade in between my fingers. I fall to my knees in front of him as his sobs intensify, gripping his shoulder firmly in my one free hand as I reveal his chest. He is beyond fighting now, reverted to the childlike position of insecurity and helplessness, and I feel the moment become ruined by the boring way in which he begins to pass.

"You know," I lecture him, "I might have let you bleed to death from the back of your knee, but you're not even fighting anymore! I can't _stand_ boredom, you little worm, so now you get to die in agony!"

His sobs become louder and more intense, grating upon my ears and my nerves; I roll my eyes as the irritation mounts and the fun begins to dry up. "Shh," I coax him, lightly brushing his lips with the back of my hand and wiping away his tears.

Then, slowly, I force the knife into his heart.

**A/N: **Well, alright! Singe returns, haha. He's a very fun character to write: initially, I just had him as a straight Mafia-style street tough, but as I started writing the initial plot, I saw that I had an opportunity to turn him into a super-sadistic psycho sociopath (ha, alliteration) and realized that he can add more to the plot that way. Basically, Singe is a product of me listening to Bat Country by Avenged Sevenfold, then watching previews of Heath Ledger's (RIP) depiction of the Joker for the upcoming Batman movie. I know that Singe is a bit different then either of those two sources, but its basically what I wanted out of him. He's going to be featured a lot as this story goes on, so let me know what you think of him!

Vicious dialogue has never been a strong suit of mine, so tell me how you all feel the scene with the Bei Fongs went! I tried to write them as connivingly as possible, and they will return as time goes on, but I don't want to say anything more, haha.

Well, I guess that's all I've got! Keep reading!

Superbleh11


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Sokka of the Water Tribe:

The fire catches my eye from far away, drifting up to paint the night sky, forcing its malevolent existence brightly against the dark backdrop. The smoke drifts to cloud the moon, dimming its light to further accentuate the light of the plumes of flame and destruction that scream and lick. As the sounds of our feet smacking the pavement drift closer and closer to the disaster, the temperature noticeably increases, teasing beads of sweat upon my forehead and upper arms. Not a word is spoken as we approach, meeting up with a troop of guards, who stand with awkward, confused expressions upon their faces.

"What happened?" I demand upon approaching, more angry at the troop's lack of coordination than anything else.

"Fire, sir!" he answers, causing me to roll my eyes, "We suspect Family involvement. Three guards were found dead outside the gates. The wounds suggest Firebending was involved."

Councilman Tsung's home lies in front of us, the roof of the farthest part of the west wing consumed by an angry orange inferno. One quick glance alerts me to the obviousness of Firebending's involvement; the flame isn't coming from the ground or one of the floors, but from the high roof, and seemingly without any kindling.

Toph makes a move beside me, shifting her weight and bringing her arms to bear; my hand reflexively reaches out for her shoulder, gripping it firmly and signaling her to stop. Wordlessly she halts, tilting her head in my direction.

"We need to save the home if we can," I respond to her silent question, "We can save the west wing, which makes the Family's attack meaningless. I have an idea. What I need you to do is start slinging loose dirt on the fire and contain it."

A quick sigh escapes her lips, more an expression of thought than one of annoyance, before she says, "Right. Ok. Can do."

With that, my little blind Earthbender sprints across the grounds. I catch the graceful, yet brisk and firm movements of her shifting her weight and gliding into the ground as I flip around to speak to the troop. I see their eyes flit from mine to the loose sand Toph is creating and skittering across the grounds, and my voice comes out booming and demanding to pull their attention.

"Listen up!" I command, "I need every available guard here immediately. I want all the Firebenders to meet with me on the grounds, while the non-benders begin collecting water in buckets from the reservoir and dumping them upon the flames. I need this to happen as quickly as possible. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" they all chant in unison, and the action begins.

* * *

The heat from the blaze fuses with the body heat that the Benders I'm surrounded by exude onto the scene, nearly drowning me in its crisp golden swelter. They mull about, scattered and disorganized, waiting for a signal from me, which I give.

"Ok, everyone listening?" I holler, "Form into ranks, two lines deep! Time is of the essence!"

Armor clanks and clatters as the Firebenders scramble to follow orders. The pure white face plates that adorn the armor glimmer coldly against the hot flames, sending chills fed by memories up and down my spine.

A sudden tall, calm form easing towards me pulls my attention away from the matter at hand. Mai approaches stoically, managing somehow to look serious and focused, and yet still somehow bored. She folds her hands into her sleeves, tilting her head at me as she arrives beside me.

"We've got nearly two hundred gallon-sized buckets filled with water," she explains, "Do you want us to start dumping them?"

"No, not yet," I respond, "I have an idea. Form the men up in a line, and get a chain of buckets ready. I'm going to explain right now, so listen closely."

She nods, in a manner that is somehow sarcastic and arrogant, and retreats to the non-benders, who immediately start following her orders. As the chain is formed, a linked rope of flesh and bone, stretching out across the easy green grounds into the street, I scream to the ranks of Firebenders, loud enough to catch both their ears and Mai's, who stands by the house. The tattle-tale pops and crackles of the wood screaming behind me feel like a rock in my stomach, focusing me and yet filling me with insecurity at the same time.

"Ok, here's whats going to happen!" booms from my throat, filled with a confidence I don't quite have, "Fire needs air to stay intact; it breathes it in almost like we do. At my signal, I want the Firebenders to send fire balls, as large as you can make them, into the fire. _Not_ into the house, but into the fire extending up over the house. This should suffocate the flames a little bit, and make them smaller. When they get smaller, I want the non-benders to start slinging them over the fire, and drown it. Toph is containing the flames, so all we need to do is finish it off. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir!" rolls over me like a wave, carried by the massive number of voices standing before me. My eyes flit to Mai, standing with a bucket of water; her solemn, dark eyes focus intently upon me, suddenly devoid of their usual sarcasm and lethargy, replaced with a seriousness and a concentration that belies her mood. The faintest of nods alerts me to her readiness, and I know I can rely on her to take care of the water-buckets.

Sure would be nice to have Aang or Katara around at a time like this...

I could swear that the loud, pungent cackle of the flames behind begins to subside, awaiting the "First rank, _fire!_" that rolls off of my tongue, almost of its own accord. Their obedience is instantaneous: in perfect, practiced form, the ranks pull back and send fat, bulbous bursts of flame into the steadily growing inferno. For a terrible moment, I think the fireballs are going to make the fire get larger. I feel a rock drop into my stomach, attacking my nerves and sending me into near panic, before the fires meet and somehow subside. The blaze suddenly lessens from an intense bright orange to a lesser red, losing height and virility.

"Ok, start with the buckets!" Mai's voice screams, somehow low and gravelly despite the volume. The angered, wounded fire hisses and sputters angrily as the first gallons of water are thrust upon it, scattering and weakening. It's slow death brings confident energy to my limbs, which stretches into my "Second rank, _fire!_".

They do, and it is the beginning of the end for the inferno. Within four bursts of fireballs, the fire has been drowned and suffocated into naught but a charred black mess atop the roof. The once confident, malevolent entity has dimmed into nonexistence, the bright passionate orange of the fire having been replaced by the dim silver of the still-clouded moonlight, sending waves of refreshing, cool air across my sweat-covered flesh.

The roof is nearly destroyed, but from what I can see, the fire-damage is minimal everywhere else. This won't cost Tsung hardly anything to fix, especially if me and Toph volunteer to help.

"Not bad, water-tribe," Mai's voice, gravelly and stoic alights my ears, making me turn around. I greet her with a contented smile, immensely relieved that my plan worked as well as it did. Toph suddenly appears at my side, announcing her present with a loud, hard clap on the back. My nerves shriek angrily at the stinging blow, but the pain does not dim my happy brightness.

"Yeah, Meathead, it's almost like you've got a _brain_ in there," she fires at me jokingly. I feel a waft of pride course through my stomach, which prevents my mouth from forming some comeback.

Sudden footsteps draw my attention away, pulling me to the bouncing, airy form of Ty Lee, clad in comfortable but unflattering cotton pajamas. Almost of its own accord, a lone eyebrow drifts upward on my face, making my expression match my confusion.

"Ugh, sorry I'm late!" she exudes with a loud, exaggerated yawn, "I only woke up a couple of minutes ago."

"Mm, we _really _missed you," Toph says, her voice so leaden and heavy with sarcasm that I'm surprised a liquid manifestation of it doesn't dribble from her mouth to pool on the ground. However, if Ty Lee notices it, she ignores it, because her mouth is instantly motoring with pleasant commentary.

A glare, bright and pungent suddenly irritates my eyes, enticing a tear from the left. My attention drifts away from Ty Lee and seeks to find the culprit, glimmering back and forth until finally becoming enshrouded in its uncomfortable light again. Then, I see where it is coming from.

Spectacles alight the man's face, perfectly round and symmetrical across his slim nose. I suppose he might be good-looking, with a slim jaw and well-structured face, but any attractiveness he may possess is offset by the ash-black, long, tousled hair and his expression. It is the expression that gets me. The crowd surrounds him, filled with curious and helpful faces, all of whom are filled with concern, but his face stands out like a beacon. I don't know how I know, but I'm sure that his eyes behind the glasses are locked upon mine.

The eyebrows are plucked up high, pulling his skin upwards as if to aid the huge, wide grin that splits his cheeks from side to side. Pure white teeth glimmer at me, almost as pure as the moonlight reflected off of his glasses, filled to the brim with a childlike glee and exuberance. The expression is decidedly happy, yet there is no happiness in either it or the scene that surrounds us. All that stands before me is a face of pure malevolence, delighting in the pain and suffering that encompasses it, and filled with some unattainable knowledge that only full acceptance of the worst parts of our natures can bring. The hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end, accompanied by the chills sent up and down my spine, and my hand subconsciously moves to graze the sword hilt on my back.

I'm terrified, and every inch of my person, every ounce of me shrieks to end this man, to kill him and to rid the world of everything that smile can bring; well, either that, or run as fast and as hard as my legs will function.

"Sokka?" A voice. Ty Lee's, fluttery and happy. "Are you ok?"

My inner struggle is abruptly cut off by her insistent question, dragging my eyes back to meet hers. Worry crosses the face of all three of the women before me, even the stoic face of Mai, and I force an air of easiness into my actions that could not be farther from the tension that I'm filled with.

"What? Oh yeah, I'm fine!" I respond. Their faces are unsure, but they seem to let it go. I quickly pull my hand from the leather-bound pommel of my sword. My gaze shifts back to the crowd, but the man has disappeared, as if he never was.

Several pleasantries and banal exchanges later, Toph and I walk across the empty, desolate streets back towards the castle. Her hand knowingly slips into mind, as if reading my mood, my fear and my tension.

"Did you feel him?" I ask. If I need to elaborate, she didn't.

"Oh yeah," she answers, squeezing my hand, "It was a big crowd, but he stood out like a Platypus Bear. His smile... I don't know, it..."

"Felt like evil?" I ask. She doesn't answer, but it's ok, because she doesn't need to. I say what needs to be said before the idea can fade away.

"I haven't gotten a vibe like that from anyone since Azula," I say, and it's the truth.

* * *

Toph Bei Fong:

I fall into the bed as we enter the room, my knees giving out from the exhaustion of the nights. The cool sheets cradle my body as my head collapses into the cushion of the pillow, and my mind begins to sink into the deep, poignant fuzz of sleep.

I hear Sokka come in behind me, slower, more measured. I can hear from the steadiness of his stuttered gait that his mind is deep in the clouds, showered in a frigid rain of internalization. The bed rocks prodigiously as he sits on the side, jolting me back into reality. My mind immediately turns to the events of the evening, playing flashbacks of my parents' regal voices and vicious intentions. My sleepiness forgotten, I roll over, exposing my face to the light summer air.

"You alright?" I ask, more gruffly than I intended.

"Yeah," he lies, "I'm just wondering about stuff."

Ok, if we're talking, he's not avoiding the subject to spare my feelings. My hand flies out of the sheets to impact heavily into the side of his arm. He seems to register the meaning of the blow; the subtle scraping of his calloused hand rubbing against the irritated spot is done subtly, with no pretensions of anger or misunderstanding.

"Alright," he says, his voice carrying a bit more of its characteristic whine, "I'll admit, your parents got to me."

"I told you not to let them get to you," I say, again more gruffly than I intended, "We were left here because this place is falling apart, not because you're not good enough to bring to the front. They needed us here."

My answer has been practiced and rehearsed in the forefront of my mind as the night has played out, carefully delegated word-for-word and structured like a carefully-designed building. We both know that tonight went very well for Sokka, and that no one else could have put out the fire and saved the building as effectively as he did. All that remains is to see if it was enough to quench the lingering doubt that my parents so adroitly wormed into his subconscious.

"I know, and you're right," he says. I grimace at the 'but' that I know is about to come out of his mouth, knowing that he's still a bit unsure of himself. Sure enough, he says, "but it did get me to thinking about stuff."

He shuffles nervously against the bed, pushing the blanket away and ruffling it up behind him. He stares away from me, though he knows it wouldn't matter if he were facing me or not, betraying some of the nervousness that is coursing through his veins. I sense that his mouth is about to flow with an outpour of stupidity, but I keep my trap shut and wait.

"You know, a messenger hawk came for me a week ago," he begins, his voice taking on a tone of seriousness and deep thought, "It was an offer, from Ba Sing Se University. They awarded me an honorary degree, and want me to accept a Professorship in Martial Strategy. The pay would be good, enough for us to kind of settle down, put up roots. Plus, I hear the Earthbending Tournaments in Ba Sing Se put out some pretty famous names. Maybe it's something we should think about, you know, when the Fire Nation is a bit more stable."

Sure enough, I'm taken aback at the wash of dumb that he has all but drowned me in. "Sokka, I swear, sometimes I'm sure that you have all the brain power of a Saber-Toothed Moose Lion." He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, knowing that, for his sake, I have to get him off this line of thinking. "No, what in our experience together makes you think, in any way, shape, or form, that I want to _settle down_? I mean, seriously! And you don't want to teach, you'd be a horrible teacher! You'd end up getting angry at the students who didn't think the same way as you, and you'd alienate the entire class before the semester was over. For the life of me, I don't know what's going through your mind! We're out here doing what we do best, fixing problems together by busting heads, and we're doing a killer job, and you want to give it away to sit in a stuffy class room?"

He's looking at me now, and even though the cushion of the bed isn't exactly conducive to my perceptions, I can feel the half-smile, half-shock expression that manifests on his stupid face. The little tuft of hair underneath his lip is probably cocked at an angle, brushing up against his chin, and I feel a wash of irritation carried by embarrassment force heat to my cheeks.

"Uhh," he says lamely, matching the stupidity of his expression, "I just thought..."

"No, you didn't, and that's the problem!" I spit at him, too irritated and mortified to quit now, "Stupid, I've been having more fun now than I have in so long, getting to live in a _palace_ just to go out and beat up on stupid, violent punks! What more could you possibly want?"

"Well, it's not that!" he stammers, suddenly finding his voice amidst my vicious assault, "I just thought maybe you'd like to solidify things!"

"Things?" I spit, "What things?"

"Things like you and me!" he counters. The suddenness and bluntness of his answer serves its purpose, silencing me, forcing me into a focused, open-eared quiet. "Look, we've been together for awhile, and I've been so happy, really, I have. I just wonder if maybe we should start thinking about the next step. I mean, right now, all our relationship really consists of is us hanging out all the time, like always, only now you randomly pull me into make-out sessions whenever the mood takes you."

Mixed emotions fight in my stomach, battling backwards and forwards for control. I feel rushes of love, and warmth, and flattery at the fact that he feels strongly enough about me that he wants to push forwards, but I can't stem the bit of me that worries about him, and fights with a solid, stable_ anything_. I like the ebb and flow of our relationship, and all I really want is to keep our freedom.

"Are you complaining?" I ask coyly, belaying the inner-battle that goes on in my stomach.

"No!" he insists, "I _like_ the random make-out sessions. Really, I like them a lot, like a _lot,_ but we could start putting down roots and still keep our freedom to bust heads together! Don't you think?"

My mind suddenly shifts focus, wondering where his motivation is in such a statement. He hadn't ever thought about anything like this before; the sudden onset of this immediately after being attacked by my parents makes me wonder about the workings of his mind, whether this seeming desire to become a more stable couple is motivated by negative emotions. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can say anything, as seems to be the way with this castle, we are interrupted by a quick knock at the door.

It bursts open before we can say anything, wrenched with considerable force and purpose; both of our attentions move to the figure that enters. The voice that echoes through the air is that of Mai's, gravelly and potent, but in a turn of events that sends my stomach into a nosedive, frightening me and focusing my senses, her voice is urgent, upset, and anything but bored.

I hear _fear_ in her words.

"Guys, you need to come with me _now!_ Something horrible has happened."

* * *

Jiro the Mouse:

The moon falls into obscurity behind a sooty cloud of ash and smoke, wafting gently into the air and signaling our moment to move. Wazha stands before me, wiry and sinewy behind the flickering torchlights around the street. I can feel the musk of his breath on the side of my face as he focuses intently upon the street, waiting, deliberating.

I'm not entirely sure what we're supposed to do tonight. All Wazha would tell us was that the orders came directly from Singe, and that our role was of critical importance to the cause. I'm not sure precisely what 'cause' that is per se, but I've never been as well fed as I have been since pickpocketing for the Family, and I'm not about to start asking bad questions now.

I can feel the two behind me more than see them, remnants of the terrible bust that all but decimated our little section, preparing with baited breath for the actions of the night. We're waiting for someone, but who?

Sudden footsteps, all but alone upon the cobblestone pavement pull my attention forwards; my eyes strain against the impenetrable gloom of the night, trying to stretch out the torchlights by the street as far as they will go. Then, they emerge, materializing out of the dark like ghosts, shadowed, yet oddly benign.

A man, and a woman. The man takes the woman's hands in his, caressing them and coddling them with the care and attention of a lover. She is very pretty, with silken black hair and a warm, caring face, adorned with several makeups and cosmetics. Her neck cranes forward as she leans in to kiss his cheek, softly; his reaction reveals a hideous burn scar, stretching out angrily across the side of his face, puckered flesh oozing from his ear down to his nose. Their mouths move, accompanied by smiles and glimmering eyes, but they're just out of earshot, and I can't tell what the conversation is about. I notice his eyes flick over towards the darkened moon, and his expression suddenly begin to convey the tensed muscles of worry, but she seems to react easily, and his mood subsides. A short, tender kiss later, they part, and she begins to walk in our direction.

"She's the target," Wazha says.

Ah, so that's the plan. We're going to rob her. It makes sense, given the silken, expensive clothes and the makeup that adorns her face; she must have something that Singe needs, or wants. I wait for Wazha's signal, sure that he is going to make use of my quick hands.

Surprise attacks my gut as he says, "When she moves past us, and I give the signal, we're going to come behind her and grab her. Li, Kysumu, you two are going to pin her arms while I gag her. Jiro, you're to keep an eye out for any unwanted visitors. Understand?"

The words are carried out in smoky, dangerous whispers, carried with the weight not only of illegality but immorality. Li and Kysumu both nod behind me, readied and prepped, but all I can do is keep the cogs in my mind from forcing their questions out through my mouth. Do we have to restrain her to get at what we need? Are we going to give her a message? How is this going to work?

Soon, far too soon, the pretty, wealthy girl crosses past the alleyway, moving nonchalantly past our concealed, enshrouded forms. Something is very wrong. I can feel it, but I don't know what it is.

The three beside me suddenly burst out from hiding, their images suddenly being cast in painful clarity by the streetlights, the rustling of cloth and the hurried, furtive movements paint out a scene that is clear and yet surreal. She struggles ferociously as Li and Kysumu pull her arms behind her back, tying them down; movements turn to flesh-colored blurs as the gag is forced into her mouth, accompanied by a toothy smile from Wazha.

I stand, firmly rooted in place, my eyes darting back and forth, futilely attempting to make sense of the situation. Her muscles tense and writhe underneath the clutches of my comrades, snaking back and forth with desperate, hopeful strength. Wazha's gaze flicks from the struggling girl to me, at my gaping jaw, at my unsureness. What does everyone know that I don't?

She is dragged back into the alleyway, pulled into the filth and the dark from whence we came, struggling and writhing but unable to overcome the three men that hold her. I flatten myself against the wall as they bring her close, pulling myself as far away from the girl as I can, not out of fear, but out of something I can't quite place.

I can make out her eyes, dark brown yet glimmering strangely in a light whose source I can't identify, so touching and fervent with emotion that it is almost as though she does not need the rest of her face to convey it; her eyes transmit such a deep portion of her thoughts and feelings that I can feel them myself, glowering down from my eyes into my stomach.

Wazha reaches into his cloak and withdraws something that glimmers in a different way.

"What's about to happen to you," he says, his voice carrying a firm menace that flows so differently from the tone he used when I was introduced to him, "is going to happen because of what you rich scum regularly do to the rest of us. I want you to know that."

"Wait, what are you doing?" I demand, more out of a lack of understanding than anger. The words stream from my mouth of their own accord, flowing into reality and leaving me in a floating void of confusion and fast-paced motion.

"What does it look like?" he asks, angrily, hurriedly. The knife moves forward.

"We're just... We're just going to kill her?"

The knife stops.

Wazha's gaze settles upon me, glowering, filled with a malevolence, a lust for violence fueled by irrepressible rage and consternation that I have never seen before. Kysumu and Li both freeze, holding her down, struggling not to look at us.

"Yes," he answers simply.

My mouth moves up and down, gaped open and exposed, becoming dry and uncomfortable. I don't know what to say but a terrible feeling of dread and guilt has sunk into me, overwhelming my ability to think or act.

"You know, Mouse," he adds, "You're starting to scare me. You're starting to make me think that maybe you aren't a part of the team. That maybe you'll go talking to some people about things you shouldn't. I'm beginning to wonder if maybe two bodies should be found in the morning."

I've got nothing. No reaction other than a palpable, clammy sweat that dribbles across my palms.

"Or," he clarifies, "Maybe if _you_ do the deed, that don't need to happen. In fact, I think that's the plan."

His thick, meaty fist pushes the weapon forward, into my sweaty nervous grip. I can feel the muscles begin to shake in my hands, begin to twitch and burn with a dread and a despondency that I'm not sure I can overcome.

My gaze turns to meet hers. I watch a lone tear trace down her cheek, which causes her face to shine and glow.

What can I do? What can I honestly do? This girl who lays down before me is already dead. Her fate is sealed. There is nothing that I, or anyone else, will be able to do to stop it. Why should I be killed along with her? Is that what she would want? What else can I do?

I close my eyes, firmly screwing them shut against the world and the cold weight of reality. My knees scream at the impact of me falling to them, suddenly ingrained with hard bits of concrete and gravel. The wooden pommel of the knife feels hot and alive in my hands, begging to be used, drawing back my hand of its own accord.

Her flesh is shockingly hot, breathing, and alive. Soft, loving, tender.

The blade sweeps down.

* * *

**A/N:** Alright, there it is! Not much to say after this one, but tell me what you think about Xiang's death! I know its a rough plot-twist, especially considering the fact that it marks the return of Jiro the Mouse, but I thought it ended up alright. Let me know what you think!

Keep reading!

Superbleh11

* * *


	5. Chapter 5ExplanationApology

**A/N:** Hey, guys... Well, I know that it's been forever (I think about a year since I last updated), but after thinking about it for awhile, I've decided to come back. I know that its awful, I literally disappeared without a trace and left all of the readers totally hanging (you guys are awesome, seriously), so I will give you an explanation. I have had... a lot of personal tragedy this past year. I don't want to go into many details, but you all deserve to know that I stopped posting after someone very close to me overdosed on drugs and died. Lots of things happened after that.. things I would prefer not to go in to, but nothing that excuses me from at least posting an explanation to y'all. Y'all deserved much better than I gave, and I understand that the way that I behaved, in disappearing, was singularly awful to everyone who wanted to see this story finished. I'm truly and deeply sorry for that.

But, all that said, I can't keep away from this story. My little brother bought the Avatar 3rd Season which sparked all of the old fanfiction fever back into me, and I remembered this story, sitting here, incomplete. After re-reading Release and what I had so far of Redemption, it struck me as to how intensely personal this story would become were I to take it up again. So, here I am. I ask for y'all's forgiveness, knowing that I don't deserve it, with the hopes that, at the very least, some of you who liked this story and supported me through it might want to come back and see how it ends. I've got a lot left to write: fanfiction is awesome, you guys who read my story were awesome, and if even one person wants to hear the story to the end, it will get completed.

Once again, I'm deeply and truly sorry to all of you. A special thanks goes out to my good friend, TwilightRose2, who helped me make this comeback. I understand she's also recently returned to the Avatar fanfiction, too; she's a helluva writer, and I highly recommend her stories to anyone looking for a good bit of Tokka fluff.

**Recap:** I want to provide one of these, so all y'all who want to come back to this story, but don't want to go through and re-read everything will know what's going on. In Release, the Gaang managed to spring Suki from a Fire Nation Prison run by latent Fire Nation loyalists. This army, led by the conniving General Xu, ultimately failed in a plot to capture Sokka and use him to get to the Avatar thanks to the quick action of Toph, who sprang both him and Suki free and managed to defeat the troop sent after them. However, during the course of the battle, Sokka was greivously wounded, and nearly died. Upon recovery, however, Suki, realizing the powerful connection between Sokka and Toph, decided to return to Kyoshi Island, leaving Toph to finally spark a relationship with him that she had always wanted. It was also revealed that General Xu was actually and Earthbender.

Redemption began with the introduction of Jiro the Mouse, a young pickpocket who was admitted into the underground criminal organization within the Fire Nation known as the Family. Sokka and Toph, about a year or so after the events of Release, have been helping the fledgling Fire Nation government put down the Family and working to elect Councilman Tsung, a very respected Councilman and good man, to the position of Fire Lord, with the hopes that this will spring the Nation out of the recession it's in. Aang and Katara have been very busy defending the Earth Kingdom city of Dai-Tso from an invasion of General Xu's forces that could spark a whole new war. Singe was introduced, a grinning sociopathic assassin who works for General Xu, and is revealed to be both aiding and commanding the Family (led by the fat, repugnant Todhe) on Xu's behalf. Zuko, since the war, had refused the Fire Lord crown, and instead, opened a teashop named after his late Uncle Iroh, which had been blossoming despite the bad times in the Fire Nation. He was also in a relationship with a girl named Xiang, the daughter of a prevalent Councilman. However, after a play by Singe to distract Sokka and Toph and the Fire Nation Guard, some assassins took Xiang. Jiro the Mouse, who didn't understand precisely what they were doing, was ordered by his Captain, Wazha, to kill her after he balked from the assassination. She died under his knife, and that is where this chapter begins.

Well, guys, there it is, such as it is. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did reading it.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing!

* * *

Zuko, the Former Prince:

The morning sun peeks timidly through the branches of the trees, spattering little flecks of light onto the cobblestone pavement as I walk. I take in the morning air, feeling the bracing cold deep in the center of my lungs. It slips into my veins, chilling my face and sending that icy form of liveliness through my chest. I slip my hands into my pockets; it's cold out for a morning in the beginning of fall.

Still, there's something about a crisp morning that brings out the beauty of the city. The diminished heat from the sun seems to catch the taller buildings in a particularly poignant light, haloing them in an intense gilded sheen that emphasizes their traditional grandeur. I let a small smile slip to my mouth.

A large gaggle of people stands herded around a corner, clogging the intersection with a mass of thick woolen cloth and clouded breath. My smile fades away into perplexity as I see the grimness of the expressions etched into their faces, worn and bittered in protest of the golden morning. The hum of voices is reserved and solemn, catching in the throats of the speakers as they each attempt to whisper more quietly than the rest of the crowd. I brush through the bodies, feeling their heat on my face as I edge through to discover what's going on. Something nasty. A worm of fear, niggling at first, then growing in strength, sits deep into my stomach for reasons I can't quite identify.

Then, suddenly the sea of people breaks, and I am greeted immediately by the stoic, worn face of Sokka. He seems much older than he is, and particularly tired: the weight of this incident has reached through his face, dropping weight upon him. Toph stands nearby, looking no better. Even her normally emotionless expression seems exhausted and dogged; the stalwart self-confidence and determined stubbornness has been dragged away.

Sokka's tanned face seems to pale as his eyes meet mine. His jaw drops slightly, as though he wants to say something, but nothing seems to come out. His brows furrow, knotting the skin between them into tight, thick wrinkles as he walks to meet me. He closes his mouth, giving up on speaking before grasping my shoulder. Fear seems to trickle from the warm, affectionate hand, feeding the knot that has already established itself within my stomach. My eyes firmly appraise his, watching the cobalt blue gaze flick to the familiar puckered flesh of my scar before he releases me, and steps out of the way.

I see the crimson first: thin pools of red dribble down the dull gray curb, leaking into the crevices between stones. I follow the telltale stream to a deeply shadowed alleyway, jammed between two shops like a knife plunged into the ground. The light of the morning sun doesn't manage to wriggle into the tiny alley, which remains defiantly dark. I ease forward, carefully, slowly, each step measured by anxiety and trepidation until I finally manage to coax myself into the blackness.

The light peeks in enough that I am able to make out the trail of red and follow it to the source. Then, I see her crumpled body. I see the closed eyes, the deathly blue hue of her skin, the outstretched hand, the huddled guards peering at the body and scrawling notes onto parchment with bits of charcoal. The fear dissipates suddenly, wrenching itself from me. I brace myself, waiting to feel... anything, something akin to what I felt at my Uncle's passing, or at my mother's disappearance.

But... there's nothing.

The anxiety leaves nothing behind in its wake, just a cold emptiness that rips the energy right out of me. I feel my legs become limp and I lean forcefully against the stone wall. I know that I _should_ feel at the moment, that I'm missing something. My life, my normalcy, the stable love that I have desired through years of hell sits before me, a tattered shell of what she was, yet I can't summon anything. She was beautiful, sweet, kind, loving, and she genuinely cared about each and everyone she met: an incredible and rare girl that I was completely and irrevocably in love with, but there's nothing.

I don't feel the love, I don't feel despondency, sadness, anger, anything.

I realize that I'm walking back to my apartment. The crowd is behind me, the scene is behind me. I don't know what, if anything, I said to Sokka and Toph. The emptiness sits within me. What can I do?

* * *

Jiro the Mouse:

The wooden chair feels hard and uncomfortable against my back as I lean into it, allowing it to cradle me. An odd sense of discomfort sits deep in the pit of my gut, and no matter how I adjust myself, it stagnates and refuses to dissipate. I know what it is, I understand the guilt that I feel.

She begged me not to do it, with her eyes. No sounds came out of her, even as her life fled, but her piercing gaze may as well been screaming my name, pleading with me to stop. But I couldn't. I know that. It's obvious. The second they grabbed her, she was dead: it made no difference who was holding the knife. If I hadn't done it, they would have killed me too! And the Fire Nation Guard would have found two bodies strewn over the gutter.

So why do I still have to feel so guilty? Damn it! I didn't ask for this to happen! I didn't mean for it to go like this! I was _forced!_ I had no choice! I've never had a choice, since the day I was born, having to jump nine hurdles for everybody else's three. Scrounging for food, scraping a living, barely able to keep my scrawny body alive. I've always done what I had to. This is just like every other time: every pocket I picked, every coin I stole.

But something deep within me refuses to believe it. I huddle over, clutching my stomach, screwing my eyes firmly shut and blocking out as many of my senses as I can to try and force it out of me. It eats me from the inside, I can feel it's little teeth biting into my organs, squeezing tears from the corners of my eyes. I am a murderer. This cold fact, shrewd and unforgiving, can't be rationalized away. I did what I did, and that poor girl lies dead because of it. There's no way around it, and there's no going back. I can't pull the knife out of her and bring her back to life. I have to accept it and move on.

The door in the corner of the empty room suddenly creeps and shudders, cracking open and exposing a thin sliver of light that cascades around me. My head snaps up as I peer forwards, waiting to see the newcomer; for some reason, a sense of foreboding sparks within me, and my quick hands ease my knife from its sheath.

A wiry man, almost as thin as me, eases through the door. The outside light catches against his spectacles, causing them to flash angrily into my eyes as he walks towards me. His matted hair shadows his face darkly, starkly emphasizing the clash between his conniving eyes and the gleeful smile painted on his face. My gaze darts back and forth between his disturbing expression and the bandoleer slung over his shoulder, filled with odd, vicious-looking throwing knives. My gut, which has never let me down before, marks this man as dangerous, and I tighten my grip around my puny little blade.

"I've heard about you, Jiro," he says happily, easing forward and planting a warm hand on my shoulder, "Wazha says you have about the quickest hands he's ever seen, and that you're capable of... doing what you have to. I like hearing things like that."

I say nothing, staring downwards at the floor, away from him. There's something so distinctly unsettling about this man that I can't bring myself to look him in the eye.

"Anyways," he says playfully, shaking me lightly, "You'll be pleased to know that we've got a job opening, in upper management. You meet the criteria we're looking for! So, I think a nice promotion is in order. We want to move you, immediately, like today, down to our main locale, outside the city!"

He releases me and paces to the edge of the room, peering out of the grime-covered window at the street. His footsteps are light and silent, and it suddenly strikes me as to who this mysterious man is.

"You're.... you're Singe," I say, lamely. He snaps his head back to look at me, the grin seeming to stretch the skin of his cheeks even further backwards.

"Oo, _perceptive_ too! I knew that you would suit our needs just _perfectly_," he grins.

I study his face, looking for signs of sarcasm, but his darkly childish appearance doesn't give away anything. I lean back against the wooden chair, struggling to make myself appear as threatening and tough as possible as he walks back towards me.

"Kid, I think you're going to fit right in. We're the kind of organization that values skills like yours! You'll go far, under my wing!"

_'Under my wing...'_

This is one of the most notorious killers in the Fire Nation. Singe, the grinning madman, and the Family's personal assassin. Under his wing.

There's no going back

"What do I have to do?" I ask.

* * *

Toph Bei Fong:

Neither of us have spoken a word since we left the Council Chamber. The silence sits heavily in the air amidst us, driving and cold, yet neither of us dare to break it. Three members of the Council withdrew their support for Councilman Tsung. Three! And on the day that poor Councilman Farzu lost his daughter. I have to admit, I was proud when Farzu refused to give up his support

I've known pain. I've known it in myself and in others, but the kind of pain I felt out of Zuko today both confused and terrified me. I couldn't help but focus on his heartbeat as he saw her, and... I don't know what I expected. But I sure didn't expect _this_. It just suddenly faded away: once the anxiety dissipated there was absolutely nothing left. It felt as though his soul was sucked out of him, and when the crinkle of cloth on brick told me that he had fallen against the wall, I had the sudden, awful feeling of death. The vibrations that emanated from him may have told me he was alive, but his heartbeat told me otherwise. I... I'm scared. Despite myself, I'm scared. I'm terrified that this has broken Zuko. Despite all the turmoil that he's gone through, all the people he's lost and the tragedies he's witnessed... I think this may have been enough to do him in.

And that's still not all. Councilman Farzu never felt older to me than he did today, addressing the Council with regards to his personal tragedy. I felt the droplets of his tears spatter against the warm, embracing earth, and, despite myself, I felt it mirrored in my own eyes. Farzu's wife died a while ago, and Xiang was his only daughter. Now all that's left of that broken family are him and his infant son, so damaged by one careless act of violence. He all but fell apart, and those greedy bastards in the Council saw it, and three had the gall to withdraw their support from him and Tsung's cause! Bastards! If I never meet another politician, I swear to the spirits, it will be too damn soon!

A huge blow, for everyone involved. For Zuko, for Tsung, for me, and Sokka, and the Fire Nation. And what's scariest of all is that all signs point to a Family assassination. They knew where to hit us at just the right point to break our world apart.

You know it has to be something big when it gets _me_ to start thinking like this.

And with these fatalistic thoughts streaming through my head, I realize that Sokka and I are passing by the Ambassadors' room, with my parents looking at us. My dad has drawn himself up to his full height, glaring down upon us with an air of pompousness and elitism so pronounced that there are traces of it in the ground. His gaze follows us pointedly as we continue to walk, and I can almost feel the self confidence dribble from Sokka.

But, just as I think the worst, Sokka stops, and turns. He stands up straight, the muscles clenching in his back as he draws himself up to _his _full height_. _His head turns, and I can feel the electricity in the room as he locks eyes with my father. No tremors come through the earth after this point, and I realize with shock that Sokka is neither blinking nor breathing. The only rhythm that alerts me to the presences in the room are the palpating hearts of my father and Sokka as they stare each other down.

Pride, mixed with the warm tenderness of love flutters in my chest as Sokka refuses to be cowed. His gritted teeth and tightened, clenched muscles reveal no weakness, no chink within his armor to be exploited, and, eventually, my father returns to his room and retires without a word.

I allow my fingers to slip between his and squeeze reassuringly as we enter our room. I feel a warm, confident smile seep across his handsome features as we walk into the room, spreading across his shoulders as he collapses, exhausted, on the couch. I let his hand fall from mine as he looks up at me, the defeated pace of his heart belaying the expression on his face.

"We took a helluva hit today, didn't we, Toph?" he says. There's no need to ask which "we" he means; I know that he's including just about every person in the Fire Nation that wants the country to pull out of the depression its in.

"Yeah," I admit lamely, unable to find the words for anything else. "I'm worried about Zuko. And Tsung. And Farzu. And... everything."

He places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, providing me not only with comfort, but also a much better look at his facial features, saying, "It's going to be ok, Toph. I won't lie, this is awful, and I know it seems very daunting, but we'll recover. Zuko will recover. We always do."

I open my mouth to protest, but he silences me (which is typically a very dangerous thing to do) with a pair of fingers against my lips. I resist the instinct to bite them as he says, "Toph, you, me, Katara, Zuko and Aang managed to nearly single-handedly dethrone the most powerful empire in the history of the world. If you asked anyone, the most optimistic of people, ten years ago if a 12-year-old Avatar and four of his friends would be able to accomplish something like that, they would all have laughed at you. We're going to win. We're going to because we have to, because that's what we do. Like you said, we bust heads and cause miracles. And this time, it's going to be a miracle for Xiang, for Zuko, for Tsung, Farzu, and anyone else that was hit hard today."

I don't know what to say, can't think of anything as a rush of optimism and hope seeps up through my chest. A hard, knotted lump forms in my throat, and I sit and lean against him, resting my head against his shoulder as he wraps an arm around me. His scent fills my nose as I lift my feet off the floor and lose half of my awareness, fully allowing myself to be encompassed by Sokka.

He's right, he's totally, completely right, damn it (which frankly, surprises me a little bit)! We'll push forward, because that's what we do! I'm the toughest earthbender in the world, and this stupid Family and the horrible things that they do aren't going to bend or break me!

His warmth embraces me, and we don't speak for a moment. I can't help but feel a stab of pride within me at him, firm and strong within my stomach. He's a total pessimist, always seeing the bad, but he can still find the inspiration that he needs to keep going. I snuggle deeper into him, snaking my arms around his waist and squeezing him tightly.

Eventually, he releases me, standing up and pacing over to the window. I recline against the couch, letting my feet fall against the floor and feeling once again the strong, reassuring rhythm of his heart. I have to admit, I feel better. I feel the drive again. But there is one thing we still need to do.

"When do you want to go and visit him?" I ask, knowing that I don't have to clarify who 'he' is, "I was thinking today. This hit him pretty hard."

I feel more than hear the sigh whisper from his lips as he leans against the wall. Idly, I blow a lock of hair from my forehead as he speaks again.

"Yeah, today is good. Actually, right now is good," he says, "Now he needs us more than ever. Poor guy... I can only imagine what he's feeling right now."

Boy does he have that right.

* * *

Zuko, the Former Prince:

I sit, sprawled out against the couch, feeling the fibers of the cushion pressing lightly into my skin. I've been staring at the plaster of the ceiling for hours, making shapes in my head out of the spackle, hoping that they might spark something within me. Nothing has happened.

I know that it's terrible, that I should be feeling awful remorse and sadness at her death, like I did when my mother disappeared, and when Uncle died, but there's nothing. I can't spark it within me. Am I broken? Has this robbed me of my humanity? These questions don't have answers.

The sun finally crests through the window, sending a harsh ray of light into the corner of my eye. I don't move, waiting for a tear to be jerked out by the sudden ray, letting it happen, wondering if it will trigger something. The saltwater accumulates, but nothing else happens, and I turn away, out of the light.

The dull red of the couch back greets me. My eyes follow the grooves in between the coarse fibers, tracing a path like a maze until it fades out of view. I don't know how long I do this for, but, eventually, I lift myself up, leaning forward and cradling my head in my hands. Nothing.

A sudden rap at the door jerks me out of my head. I turn towards the noise, staring at the dull wood of my door, but I make no move to answer it. Instead, I allow myself to ease back into the soft cushion of the couch, leaning back and allowing my imagination to make shapes out of the bumps and grooves of plaster on my ceiling.

The rap returns, louder this time, yet still I do nothing. To be honest, I don't know why. It's almost like I don't have the energy, as if there's nothing that could make me get up at the moment and answer the door. So I don't.

Another rap, followed by a familiar voice. Raspy, a bit whiney. Sokka's.

"Zuko, hey, it's us, me and Toph," he says, "C'mon, open up. We're here for you, buddy."

I don't say or do anything, and another voice comes through the door. Girlish, yet tough and confident. Toph's.

"Zuko, c'mon, I know you're in there. I can feel you on your couch," she says. A smirk comes to my face as I realize that its true, yet I don't care, not in the slightest. "Please. We just want to make sure you're ok."

Ok? What does that even mean? Am I _ok_? Is it _ok_ not to feel anything when someone you love dies? Ok... what a stupid thing to say. And why would they even come here? To try to 'cheer me up'? As if they could make any difference, or if I'd even want their help? I still remember what they did in my teashop. I still remember them asking me to take that damned crown again. Is that what they're here for? It would make sense. Coming over here, trying to use Xiang's death to inspire me to take the crown.

Well to hell with them! To hell with this stupid country, to hell with the stupid Fire Lord Crown! A spark of anger ignites, like kindling, deep in my chest. I hold my breath, letting the feeling seep within me, fanning the spark until it becomes flame: palpable, real, tangible. It throws new life into my limbs, making my hands shake with rage as I clench them into fists, if only to control them. Damn them! Damn them for coming here! They don't know what I'm going through, and I sure as hell am not going to let them use me for whatever they want!

"Alright, Zuko," Sokka says. It takes considerable effort not to run to the door, swing it open, and punch him in the face, but I manage not to. "I'm not going to force you. I understand. But please, know that me and Toph are always here for you."

Pah! Only insofar as I can help them bring "order" back to the Fire Nation! I relish their footsteps as they walk away. They were smart to leave. Very smart. More than they know.

I stand up, suddenly awash with fresh energy. But, it's not like my anger used to be: passionate, out of control, like a raging wildfire. This time, its measured, a campfire, giving me energy and new life. I realize that my fists are still clenched, and peer down at them. A tight paleness spreads around my knuckles, where the pressure has stopped the flow of blood. I release them, flexing the digits and letting the rage fully seep into them.

It's not Toph and Sokka. They're not at fault here, as questionable as their motives may be. It's the Family. Oh, its incredibly obvious that this was a Family killing, to anyone with half a brain. Xiang, the daughter of a Councilman gunning for their demise, is found stabbed to death in a back alley.

She deserved so much more! A girl that wonderful deserved everything that life could give her! But no, it's been stripped away, by a group of thugs who care more about a quick gold coin than a human life. And nobody's going to do anything. No proof, no evidence, but there's no one in the entire Fire Nation who doesn't know that they're responsible.

My eyes flick almost instinctively to the sword case, lying unassumingly upon the ground. My footsteps sound hurried and spastic as I walk over to it, flicking open the latch and all but throwing the lid open. The twin swords sit against the red velvet, sheathed and connected, lying dormant for years until I had need of them again. I have need now.

I pick up the weapons, feeling their familiar weight in my hands, staring down at the creased brown leather sheath, the gilded pommels, the intricately connected hilts. I slide the sheath off of the steel, tossing it idly to the ground as I take in their beauty. The sunlight glitters off of the blades as I disconnect them, exposing the terrifying beauty that these swords hold. Dust seems to shake off of my muscles as I flex and trace them in familiar patterns, lazily tracing the steel through the air. Two halves of the same whole, two pieces of the same puzzle. Always connected, regardless of whether they're apart.

I bring the left sword into a low arc, watching the blur of steel draw a line into the air. Of it's own accord, the right follows, using the momentum of the swing to lick out as I twist and bend around it. I let the blades whistle through the air, following the familiar patterns as the area around me becomes filled with emotion and life: singing metal, the dangerous glitter of carefully honed edges, the terrified whoosh of fleeing wind. My hair blows back as a grin alights my lips. I haven't lost anything with time! And now, now that I need them...

A sudden dull thump followed by a jarring loss of momentum in my right arm jerks me back to reality. I look back towards the right sword, and see it jammed halfway through my ornate wooden bookcase. A shelf has split in half, and books fall from the side, bleeding away and crashing loudly to the floor. The rage ignites within me again, sending liquid fire through my veins and cramming my muscles full of energy. I scream as I thrust with my free sword, jamming it deeply into the terrible wound that the stuck one has created and twisting it viciously. With a bout of strength that surprises me, my left leg explodes forward into a furious side kick, slamming in between the planted blades and creating more pressure than the ruined bookcase can handle. The wood creaks and groans as the split flowers instantaneously, ripping the polished and sanded wood in half. Shelves and books clatter messily to the ground, pooling in a wrecked mess of paper and wood. Dust rises from the floor, stinging my eyes and lungs, and I wave it away with a quick flash of my right sword.

As I stare at the pile of destruction in front of me, a grim sense of satisfaction begins to replace the anger that had so violently taken me over. I'm coming for them. The Family. I am going to wipe those bastards from the face of the earth. Every last one of them. They're a cancer, a plague, and nobody, not Sokka, not Toph, not the new government is doing anything about it. So I'm going to take care of it.

I pick up the leather sheath, hooking the swords together and relishing the steely melody of the blades sliding home as the sunlight fades. Tonight. Everyone knows where they are, everyone knows where their base of operations is. Their arrogance will cost them their lives.

I set the sheathed swords down on the table, and walk back over to the sword case, which has miraculously survived the carnage of the bookcase's death. Carefully, I pull back the velvet covering that once cradled the swords, peeling it away until the latch to the trapdoor underneath is exposed. I flick it up, smiling at the faint click that rewards me, and pry the trapdoor open.

A grinning face, dark blue and distinctly demonic greets me.

* * *

**A/N**: Well, there it is, a long, long overdue chapter. Yes, the grinning face underneath the trap door is supposed to be the Blue Spirit mask; I wasn't sure if I explained that well enough, but that's what it is, haha. If you want me to continue the story, or if you want to yell at me for being gone so long, just shoot me a review. Thanks a lot for reading.

Superbleh11

P.S., my new AIM is Superbleh11, for anyone that wants to hit me up for whatever reason.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Hey guys! Chapter 6, up and ready! Really quick note: It's come to my attention that some of you weren't able to leave reviews on the last chapter. I think that's because I deleted some of the old chaff notes that weren't chapters when I came back, and doesn't allow us to post more than one review per chapter. However, on what was previously Chapter 6 according to , there were only two reviews, so I think most of you will be able to review without this problem. If not, you could always follow Leave-My-Mark's example (serious props to him/her [im not sure which] for going above and beyond, and PM'ing me a review for the story when she got turned away at !), or hold off til the next one gets posted. Thanks again for all your support, you've made this comeback a terrific experience!

**Warning!!! **This chapter contains some violence, because, no matter how hard I try, I can't make swordfighting be bloodless!

**Disclaimer:** Superbleh11 owns nothing which could force him to go to court

* * *

Zuko, the Former Prince:

The silvery shimmer of the moon stabs into the night, perfuming the air with a dull, glimmering light. I hear myself loudly within the mask, feeling the musky heat of my breath reflected against the thick, heavy wood. The slits of the eyes are wide enough to give me a good view of the world around me, complete with a hefty periphery, but my vision is somewhat obscured, and I realize that I'm not as aware of my surroundings as I would be without it.

I sight the large building sprawled up amidst several shorter ones, sprouting like a weed. It's the only nice house in this entire district: the well painted and maintained tiles and ornate wooden panels stand out gaudily and pompously against the poverty of the homes surrounding it. I ease further into the shadows, carefully watching the forms of the guards, black silhouettes against the dull yellow light glimmering through the parchment in the windows and doors, as they pace back and forth. A small smirk alights my lips as I see them continue to shift restlessly against the backdrop, displaying not only a lack of attention but also a clear deficiency in the discipline of how the organization is run. I remember keeping _my_ guards standing firmly at attention during their night shifts, with keen eyes and even keener ears. I suppose its too much to expect murderers and thieves to hold to the same practice.

I clench my fists at the thought, remembering the tattered shell that was once my beautiful Xiang, crushed at the hands of these _bastards_. Heat begins to form in them as the fire raging in my soul seeps into bending, lighting sparks and embers between my tightened fingers. I take a deep breath and allow the flame to extinguish, coolly guiding my right hand to the twin pommels of my swords. Firebending is a distinctly bad idea here. Not only would the paper and wood mansion explode into flames, likely ripping a hole into the center of this district, but also, and more importantly, there aren't many Firebenders around these days, and the law would come after me in a heartbeat. At least the use of blades keeps it a bit more ambiguous.

Besides, I can't imagine that the human waste of the Family will present me any trouble, even half-armed as I am.

Effortlessly, I pull myself up the side of the alleyway, gripping the splits between wooden beams and tiles firmly as I flip my leg over the side. The tiles remain shakily stagnant underneath my light feet as I quickly but carefully make my way to the more-firm roof beam at the pinnacle. The ceramic groans scratchily in protest, giving me a tenuous foothold at best, but my agile steps bring me to the top safely and, more importantly, silently. I slip behind the ornate wooden lip to the beam until I have melted completely into its shadow, pressing my back against the old and faded wood, feeling the splinters prickle against my back. A bead of sweat dribbles down the side of my face, partially because of the heat of the mask, partially because of the intensity of the situation.

I peer over the edge, exposing but a sliver of my evilly masked face, peering at the guards whose gaze is firmly locked away from me. Silence is the name of the game here; I want these two dead without so much as a peep, to keep the crooks inside from mobilizing while they might still have a chance. They're lucky: they get to die without the imminent terror that the rest will.

The swords slide silently from the sheath, emitting nothing but a small metallic whisper. I extend my right arm downwards, all but pressing the tightly-held sword against the wooden beam as I allow the other wickedly-curved blade to arc over my head, the tip aimed viciously at the side of the first guard's head. Throat, or the heart. Anything else, and they'll make noise.

With a sharp intake of breath, I firmly plant my leg against the wood, rapidly firing the muscles within and leaping down towards the guard in a slow spin. Praying that I've gauged the jump right, I twist and swing the fiery left sword in a vicious slash. My eyes catch the sudden spurt of arterial blood as the silvery blade rips through the man's throat. He collapses in a crumple of cloth and the sickly wet slap of blood on the pavement as his comrade, utterly stunned by the sudden and violent act unconsciously begins to draw his long knife. He hesitates. I don't.

The untainted sword plunges through his unarmored chest, sinking in deeply like a hot knife through butter. He opens his mouth as if to scream, fueling the rage within me as I rip the other blade through his exposed neck. Red splatters of crimson seep into the cobblestone pavement as he sinks to his knees, kept upright solely by virtue of the sword planted in his chest. I grit my teeth in fury as I rip the weapon from him, allowing him to flop lifelessly to the ground.

As quickly as I dropped down, I disappear into the safety of the shadows, flipping my swords behind me so as not to catch the moonlight. My breath rattles against the mask, loud and raspy, but no other sounds screech through the night, relaxing the tension within my muscles. The guards down successfully, no alarms raised.

I realize as I ease towards the paper-screened windows that I do not know the layout of the building. This might be a problem, as I don't want any of these murderous crooks to be able to escape in the confusion of the slaughter. I need to catch them unawares, then explode through them like a wildfire. Shock and awe tactics. But how can I ensure this? A criminal base like this is sure to have a secret exit.

My mind races through possibilities. If I can sneak into the door and rip into the first wave of crooks, I might be able to snuff the lights. If I can do that, the mobsters will probably assume that they have the advantage, and push inwards to the facility, where I can move through the darkness and the shadows to put them down. I can't imagine that any mobster's first instinct would be to run from their _base_, where they're typically the most safe.

Typically.

As long as I can snuff the lights, they shouldn't fully comprehend the totality of the butchering until its too late. That's what I need to count on. That, and using the dark and confusion to my advantage. Unlike in Bending battles, where my fire might give me some distance and a bit more protection, the sole usage of swords means that I'll have to be close-range with my targets in order to take them out. Which means less protection. Anything can happen: a rug that moves underfoot, a spot of armor stopping the blow...

Despite everything, despite the gut-wrenching rage that has flowered within me, I don't want to die. I'll live, and keep on living, if only to see these bastards in their graves.

I inhale deeply, hearing the reflected noise deep in the recesses of my ears, before letting the breath whisper from between my lips. It's time to start.

I take a step back, calming myself and tensing my muscles, before lowering my shoulder and charging in. The moderately flimsy wood suspending the pieces of parchment cave and crackle underneath me, bursting apart under the force of the charge, and everything happens at once.

Four figures immediately make themselves known to me: two of the Family standing idly near a staircase in the back of the room, one pouring a cup of tea from a kettle, and one reclining back in a chair. I take advantage of their moment of shock to roll over the carpet, extending the swords out from either side, feeling the rough fibers digging into my neck and back as I fly forwards before charging through. I both see and feel the flickering fires of the lamps around me; the blades flash through the dark, whistling viciously through the wind, whispering through the wicks and flames and silencing them. The crackling fire dies, taking the light with it as total darkness blankets the room like a covering of snow.

The images of shocked Family members lights up firmly in my mind, bringing up the familiar acid lump to my throat of rage and anger as I place them around the room. The two by the stairs are first to reach me; I hear their footsteps and drawn blades behind me as I extend my right foot and whirl around, using the extra inertia provided by the wickedly curved blades to rip them through the body of the first man. His screams perfume the air, loud and beastial as he crumples to the floor and his compatriot surges towards me. My eyes, still adjusted to the dark outside, see the man's heavy billyclub, clutched firmly in his hand, slamming down loosely towards my head. I sidestep, easily avoiding the clumsy bludgeon, feeling the brush of wind across my face as I crouch down and whip my left leg through his. I feel the heavy impact deep in the crux of my ankle, gritting my teeth as I feel the would-be killer slam bodily to the ground. I leap forwards, crossing the fallen man before twisting around and thrusting the point of my right sword downwards. I feel the lack of resistance slip into the slight friction of human flesh as the sword slides home into his chest, killing him instantly.

Quickly, I ready myself into the attacking stance, flipping the left blade over my head and extending the right forwards as I turn to face the two remaining attackers. They approach me warily, their darkened features aimed squarely at me. I hear the man to the right inhale sharply, preparing to attack, and I lunge forward, as fast as my limbs will take me, jamming the point of the overhanging sword downward as hard as I can. It slams into the bridge of his nose, snapping his head back and ripping the feeling from his legs. I feel him turn to rubber through the metallic hum of the sword as the next man leaps at me, dagger extended, thinking me prone.

I am not.

I twist around, whirling the free sword into a vicious arc that rips into his shoulder as he dives through the air, throwing him sideways to slam bodily into the wall. There is a clatter of glass shattering against the floor as I rip my left sword from the skull of the now dead man and charge towards the noise. My right blade somehow catches the moonlight, tracing a bright silver arc through the air as the wounded Family man tries to turn around. He makes it about halfway before the sword rips through him, spraying dark black against the side of the wall. There is only the sound of cloth against wood as he slowly slides to the ground and fades away.

The sudden clatter of footsteps, accompanied by the dull wooden thud of a door slamming snap my masked face backwards, bringing into view the herd of fighters ripping through the basement.

Slowly, methodically, I ease myself back into the attack stance, allowing the fighters to view the full, vicious length of my swords as the liquid rage swirls through my veins. My muscles tense, forming cords in my neck as it bubbles into a scream, reaching through my belly.

* * *

Wazha, Family Lieutenant:

"What the hell is going on?" I demand, slamming my fist against my desk. Li looks back and stares at me blankly, his thin, sallow face looking distinctly nonplussed. Anger and frustration build up in the center of my chest. What did we hire these morons for?!

Everything has been going to the badgermoles since last night, when we finished off that spoiled little Senator's daughter. I swear, we've pulled murders before, and nothing like this has come of it! Everyone gets up and panics, but not this hard. It was just some rich spoiled brat! Not like she made a damn difference in the world.

Singe and Jiro left this morning, and, though I was honestly a bit thankful that the grinning psychopath was safely away from me, he had this look on him, like he knew something was going to happen. Now, we have an attack, and I have no idea what's going on! Once we heard the screams and the clatter of stuff upstairs, I sent the rest of the boys to go investigate, just in case, but its been a couple of minutes now, and I'm starting to get antsy. What if it's the Enforcers? What if they've just decided to walk through and massacre us, law be damned? All I've got left down here are Li and Kysumu, and I don't trust either of them against a squad of Enforcers. Least of all that crazy little Earthbender girl I keep hearing about.

Another full-fledged scream emits from above, accompanied by another loud thump, and the clatter of furniture. A bead of cold sweat rolls down the side of my face, sending shivers up and down my spine as I stand up, reaching down and opening the catch-drawer underneath my desk. The whisper of wood sliding open causes both Li and Kysumu to glance back at me; I see the nervousness on their faces, the pale, drawn skin, clenched muscles behind the eyes, and I pull the compartment fully open. Inside sits a Fire Nation standard-issue _jian_, three feet long, wickedly sharp, and hopefully enough of a surprise to give me a fighting chance at making out of here if a squad of Enforcers intent on revenge bursts into the room.

I throw the sheath away as I draw the weapon, feeling the uncomfortable weight in my hand. I'm not used to this damned thing. I've fought a lot of street fights, but mostly with knives or billyclubs, never anything this serious.

Suddenly, a loud thud, much closer and more distinct than the ones that have been peppering the room rips our gazes upwards, towards where the stairs leading up to the main floor meet the door. There is a sudden deafening crash as the door splinters apart, shattering over some terrible force, and the limp, plump body of Yusha flops down the staircase, spattering crimson over the walls and down the rail. It shudders and creaks under his weight before giving way from the force and allowing his body to roll over the side and thump dully against the ground.

He doesn't move.

Simultaneously, Li's, Kysumu's and my eyes shoot upwards to the opened entryway as a firm knot of fear grabs hold of my spine. The sweat glimmering profusely upon the palms of my hands makes the handle of the sword difficult to grip; it slides in my fist, despite my clenched muscles. Oh, _Spirits_, I don't want to die! I don't want to die!

A figure appears, outlined in the darkness of the upstairs that sends a powerful shudder through my muscles. A blue, grinning demon mask is strapped firmly to his face, the only patch of distinction over his otherwise dull black clothing. But what is supremely terrifying are the two massive, wickedly curved, fiery swords that he has gripped in his hands. The silvery blades are dulled and splattered with blood: crimson and thick with coagulation, it dribbles slowly down the tip and spatters against the ground.

My mouth becomes dry and salty, uncomfortable as I try to swallow. I glance furtively towards Li and Kysumu, who seem equally rooted to the ground at the sight of the masked demon at the top of the stairs. The terror manifests into a raspy screech as I yell: "What are you waiting for, you idiots?! Kill him! Kill him now!"

I stay back, watching as the masked man leaps lightly from the top of the stairs, landing easily with a roll beside the dead body of Yusha. Li and Kysumu charge forwards, long knives drawn, screaming out of a heady mix of fear and rage.

And die.

It happens in a flash: there is no clatter of steel on steel, no artful moves, only the sudden flash of the demon's steel, and the dessicated, shredded corpses of Li and Kysumu litter the ground, the life gone from them. He rises slowly, easing the swords into a distinctive attack position, and the fear culminates within me. My jittering muscles shake palpably, dragging the energy from my hands and allowing the sword to drop from my lifeless fingers. It clatters noisily against the ground, providing the only combat to the silence as the demon walks towards me.

The silence! It kills me, it turns my terror into sheer panic as I try to back away, staring at what I know is my imminent doom. I don't want to die! Please, Spirits, I _don't want to die!_

The man stops as I press myself against the back wall, shaking like a fevered animal. He raises a sword-grasping hand to his mask, now splattered in fresh, living blood, and lifts it away.

I can't, for the life of me, pry my gaze away as he reveals himself: the puckered, scarred flesh around his eyes, the furious, gilded hue of his irises, the grim, set jaw, and the darkened, knotted brow. I know this man. The former Prince, the man who was dating the girl we snuffed yesterday. And the weight of it all, the full jarring pain of understanding, descends upon me, ripping the last of my hope away.

They left us, they left us to die! Jiro, Singe, they knew what was coming.. and they left us. They knew this would happen, they knew what he was, they knew what he would do... and they left us to die! They left us to die, they left us to die, they left us to die... _I don't want to die!_

"Who left you to die?"

The voice, raspy and calm, yet full of an inhuman rage whispers from the throat of the demon man. I realize with a shock that I've been babbling my thoughts aloud.

Somehow, I manage to force my mouth to work; once it does, it doesn't seem to stop, as words pour out of me.

"It was... oh Spirits... Singe! Singe... and Jiro! They knew what was going to happen... they left us here for you to kill us! To wipe us out!"

I stare deeply into the demon's eyes, hoping to find some trace of compassion I can exploit, but they're still hardened and fiery, tempered under a flame of fury.

"Who are Singe and Jiro?" he demands coldly.

My fingers knot together as I begin to answer. "Singe! He's... he's Todhe's assassin... Him and Jiro, the Mouse, the thief... Listen... Listen to me, Zuko: I didn't want to kill her. I didn't want to do it, but Singe, he's a _psycho_, he _made_ us do it, he ordered it, or he woulda killed us too, sure as you have! And Jiro... he's his lackey now! They plotted it... Singe started the big fire to wipe the cops out of the street, and Jiro... Jiro killed her! Oh please, I didn't want to, I didn't want to kill your girl, they made me! I didn't have no choice!"

His teeth grit and his jaw sets as I beg and plead, his eyes glittering with a feral light, anticipating the kill. I hear the grit of leather as he clenches his fists tighter against the swords and approaches me, pointing the left blade towards my face.

"You didn't have a choice?! There's always a choice, you bastard! Now you pay for what you did!"

All feeling dissipates from my muscles as he approaches.

* * *

Sokka of the Water Tribe:

The carnage is absolutely horrifying. I've seen battlefields with less of it, that didn't cause my stomach to writhe and twist in the way that this one does.

The morning sun drips in through the open shutters, pooling bright yellow light over the ruined bodies of Family men. The black handprint insignia, draped over the staircase banner flutters in the wind blowing through the broken door, tattered and stained a deep crimson. A sudden lurching noise rips my gaze from the mass of dessicated corpses towards the figure of a guard running towards the window, clutching his stomach as his chest heaves strongly. I really feel for the guy.

The sudden buzz of insects reaches my ears causing my hand to swat angrily through the air. This is awful. Singularly awful. Just up here, in the foyer, I count the bodies of at least thirteen toughs, sprawled and scattered around the room. I shake my head, before turning around and walking out through the door. I'll start with the two men outside.

They lie close to each other. One man is sprawled face down on the pavement, his head cocked at an odd angle, the limbs spread-eagled across the ground. The other man is in a sitting position; balanced precariously upon a support beam, thick, coagulated blood still leaking from his open mouth. I swallow deeply before trying to start to analyze what happened here.

My eyes flit almost of their own accord to Toph, chatting in hushed tones with one of the Guards, who is making a conscious effort to avoid looking at the awful display of the inside. Somehow, she notices me looking at her, and paces towards me, her bare feet slapping against the hard road. I flash her a smile that belays what I feel as she frowns.

"Well, what do you think?" she asks bluntly. I sigh, pulling myself out of my head, and crouching down to get a view of the corpses.

"What do you know already?" I ask the Guard, who crouches beside me.

He coughs in a sickly manner before speaking, his voice a little raspy and very tired. "Well, it was a hell of a fight. There's the two out here, thirteen in the foyer room, and four more bodies sprawled out in the basement, where the big Family office is. We were right about Wazha, he was the local lieutenant here, and he's down at the last. We don't know how many attackers there were, but they all killed with a similar weapon. Large, curved swords by the look of it."

He glances furtively at me as he says the last bit, his eyes taking mine, then flicking awkwardly away, as though he were embarrassed by it. A flash of irritation crosses through me, making me demand: "What? What is it?"

His gaze firmly locks upon the ground, refusing to meet mine as he replies, "Nothing, sir."

"He's lying," Toph states stoically, bringing my eyes to rest upon her. I really can't help but marvel at her strength. I know that the vibrations given out by the multitude of heartbeats around has to be casting very vivid, intense, and disturbing images of the bodies lying around the ground, and, unlike everyone else, she has no ability to look away. To not view it. Yet, here she is, still working, still functioning, and giving no sign of the disgust she must be feeling. She can still catch lies to help us out.

I lock my gaze upon the guard who looks suddenly mortified, clearly caught in his untruth. I feel the skin of my brows knuckle together as I glare at him, before saying "Listen, buddy, I'm going to give you another chance. Care to tell the truth this time?"

A sigh comes out of his mouth as he hangs his head down, defeated. The words are whiny and piteous as he says, "A.. a couple of the guys, looking at the sword wounds... They started talking. Swords are illegal, and really hard to get, even on the black market. The only folks that have them are us, the military, and... well, your Enforcers. So they've got to wondering..."

"You think _we_ did this?" I demand, as the irritation flowers into outright anger, "That we would even be capable of something like this? We have followed the new laws _to the letter_. And whatever happened here, we're going to figure it out. These people were murdered, and, criminals or not, Family or not, we're going to bring the killers to justice. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," he states calmly, though I can hear the lack of conviction in the words. My frustration mounts as he walks away, choosing to join his comrades in the house. I look at Toph, whose frown has deepened and brows have narrowed.

"Unbelievable," she hisses. I'm inclined to agree.

I shake my head rapidly, attempting to clear the frustration from my throat as I look down and begin to study the bodies before me. Clearly, these guys were sentries. This is the only way into the building, and they're far away from the other corpses. But, since no one came out here to help them, it means that they must not have sounded any kind of alarm.

I glance back into the shattered entryway, taking note of the distance between the other fights and the debris of the shattered sliding door clearly scattered _within_ the building. Meaning that they broke through to get in, not the other way around. Could they have swamped through the street, killed these men quickly and charged through with enough speed that it left the Family members inside no time to react?

No, that makes no sense. Fights are loud, and obvious, and there's no way that these toughs would have been _so_ stunned as to not react at all. But then, how else would they have done it? Unless these men were killed utterly silently, the men inside would have been alerted. I suppose its possible for a group of men to kill two in silence, if they surprised them. These men weren't wearing armor, after all.

I scan the open plaza that stretches out before this building, taking in the cracked, worn pavement, the overgrown and untended garden in the center, but what really stands out is a sheer lack of cover. There is no _way_ that the sentries wouldn't have seen them ahead of time! A group of men, prepped for battle, could _not _have done that.

The overhanging roof suddenly catches my eye, and I realize what happened. Whoever they were, they deployed one man or two, who scaled the roofs, and surprised the two sentries from above. Then the rest of them charged through the doors, not bothering to open it so they could retain the element of surprise.

I shake my head as the frustration continues to build. That couldn't have happened! The men inside would have heard heavily armed men running through a courtyard, and the fight would be much closer to the door. Whoever charged through that entryway almost instantaneously made it to the center of the foyer and snuffed the lights. If it was a large group, then there would be at least _some_ bodies or blood stains right by the door, not deep in the center of the room.

So it couldn't have been a large group. A small group of incredibly skilled assassins, each armed with curved swords. At least two apiece, because a bunch of the bodies have two wounds upon them, each one fatal. There wouldn't have been a second stroke without a second sword, because the men were already dead.

A sudden, awful thought crosses through my mind, evaporating the frustration and replacing it with a sickening dead weight in my stomach. It couldn't be. No way.

I pull myself out of my head, looking at the bodies, staring at the blank bodies, and realize, that its the only possible explanation. It is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what happened here last night. No disgruntled batch of the military or guard, no battalions were here.

"What is it?" Toph asks, placing a hand on my shoulder. I look upon her, watching her read my emotions, seeing the subtle ticks of worry upon her face. Her pale, full cheeks are drawn down into a frown, her milky eyes tight with confusion. I stand, stretching the sleepy muscles in my legs and wrapping an arm around her, tugging her closely to myself. She responds by slipping her arm around the small of my back.

"Sokka, you need to tell me what's going on," she states firmly, and I realize that I'm sailing in dangerous waters.

"Come with me, Toph," I whisper, looking furtively around to make sure there are no close by listeners, "We need to talk. Quickly."

She doesn't utter a word, merely follows me as I limp away, headed back towards the castle.

* * *

I lean up against the side of the wall, propping myself up on my arms as I allow my head to droop down. Toph walks behind me, folding her arms and plucking up an eyebrow.

"Toph, it was Zuko," I say, attempting to put a bit more strength in my voice than I feel at the moment. I turn around to watch her reaction, seeing her already large eyes grow wide with the same shock, the same unwillingness to believe it, that I felt at the Family mansion. She brings a hand to her mouth, making her look uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"It couldn't have been. He wouldn't have. Not even after..." she states, but she knows its not true even as she says it.

"Toph, it was. It's the only logical explanation. What happened there was caused by one man, wielding two large, curved blades. The only person in the entire world that I know who has the skill with twin swords needed to pull it off, and the motive to do something like this, is him. Only Zuko could have done this alone."

She folds her arms and sets her jaw, her toes clenching and loosening upon the floor. I look at her as she says, "We can't bring him in. Maybe it will stop here. If anyone had the right, it was him. He's our friend, and we can't let him go to jail. He doesn't deserve it."

I open my mouth to speak, but she silences me with a hand in the air, stating "Is it even really so bad? The Family has been making it almost impossible to pull the Fire Nation out of the hole its in and set up a stable system. They're murderers, thieves, and scum! So what if some of them have been wiped out? Doesn't that only help us?"

She paces over and sits down on the couch, frustrated and angry, folding her arms and sending me mental messages to let me know that if I try to touch her, she'll make me regret it. Instead I walk directly by her, just out of range of her fists (but painfully aware that her Earthbending is still a distinct danger) and force some courage up through my throat before speaking.

"Toph, you know that's not right. Part of what our job is here is to make the laws work. That means that we can't invade homes in the middle of the night and kill all the occupants, even if we know but can't prove that they've done something heinous. And we can't let it happen and do nothing, either."

At this, she glares at me. I open my mouth to speak some more, but fear clutches the center of her chest as I watch her, as if in slow motion, lift her foot off the ground, and slam it downwards. I grit my eyes shut and firmly clench every muscle I can, anticipating some Earthbending pain as the floor comes alive underneath me. Walls of stone form jaws around me, clenching down and cocooning me in a solid, immobile pillar of rock. I quickly sink into the living floor up to my neck, craning my muscles so as to avoid being fully submerged.

Toph stalks over to me, leaning down close enough that I can feel her hot breath wash over my face. The snarl that alights her lips, pulled up by a clenched cheek, is both terrifying and damnably cute, in a way that is distinctly Toph, and I feel that familiar odd mix of warmth in my chest and cold in my stomach.

"So what, we're just going to grab Zuko, and throw him in prison? Leave him to suffer and rot in a jail cell for the rest of his life? Is that what you're suggesting? Because I don't want to have any part of it!"

"Toph..." I begin, but she cuts me off, venting her anger.

"I'll break him out, if you do! You know that I will!"

"Toph..."

"No! You're not doing it!" she hisses.

"Toph, I didn't say that I want to throw him in jail!" I say as quickly and loudly as I can, hoping that she'll hear it and register it before she chooses to cut me off again. Thankfully, she does, as her ears twitch, and the ground releases me up to my elbows, signifying that I have, no pun intended, gained a bit of ground with her. The sudden release makes me flop over clumsily, as she extends a hand downwards and grasps my wolf's tail in her hand.

"Well, then what?" she demands.

I take a deep breath, looking deeply into her pale milky eyes, as I say, "He's in a rage. You remember how fury can get to him. He's not going to stop here. There's at least another twenty or thirty Family agents in the city, and he's going to go after them all. And when he's finished with them, he's probably going to move to another city, so he can wipe out the branch of Family there. You heard what that Guard said: swords are illegal, and everyone is going to assume that the government is deploying armed assassins to kill members of the Family. That will ruin the little credibility we have right now, and bring the country to its knees. All I want to happen, the only thing, is for him to stop. I don't want to throw him in jail, I just want him to see reason and stop what he's doing. Ok?"

Her breath is hot and loud as it whistles through her nose and blows across my face. I know she is feeling my heartbeat through the ground, trying to gauge my emotions, and find truth in my words. After what feels like an eternity, her clenched fist releases my hair, and the ground, wriggling and squirming underneath me, pushes me back to the surface, fully freeing me. I stretch my arms sideways, relieved to be free of the stony prison, and having harsh flashbacks to times where she's left me, prone in the earth, for hours at a time.

"So what are you going to do? How are you even going to talk to him?" she demands, obviously still a bit frustrated, "He's not going to let himself be caught."

"I have a plan," I say confidently, flashing her a big grin, "This will work. Zuko's still down there, despite everything he's gone through. He'll come around."

She grunts noncommittally, folding her arms and frowning deeply. My grin widens as I give into temptation.

"You know, Toph, you're cute when you're mad."

"Shut up," she mutters dangerously, but I see the flush of color that rises to her cheeks.

* * *

Singe, a Family Man:

Oh, the carnage is absolutely _delicious_, even through a telescope! I've got admit, I like this Zuko guy!

I pull the device away from my eyes, and the image of the two sentries, all but ripped apart, disappears into the current surroundings. The vantage point from this mountain was perfect, giving a direct view to the city below. A perfect place to camp! I glance at the Mouse, who sits beside me, hunched over a rock, and deep within his own melancholy. Ugh, this kid is boring. But, he's got the instinct he needs, and the boss needs a pickpocket, so, here we are.

I take a deep breath, enjoying the cold mountain air. Joining up with the boss was one of the best decisions I ever made. I've never had so much fun! All of the plotting, the scheming, conniving... It's really exhilarating. Random murders have nothing on this!

I walk over to the deadened fireplace, leaning down and rummaging through the pack. The canvas scratches the back of my hands as I push through the books and equipment, finally coming out with a small roll of parchment and a piece of charcoal. I sit down next to Jiro, the parchment crinkling noisily as I unfurl it against the rock before scrawling on it with the blackened writing tool. I've always enjoyed the dull scratchy sound that charcoal makes on parchment for some reason, and I enjoy it here, too.

As I finish, I pause to admire my handiwork, rereading the tight, scrawled writing.

_Xu,_

_Worked like you said. The little Prince wiped out the whole house! Lots of blood, anger, even through the telescope. It's great! Got the pickpocket you wanted here, too. We're ready for phase two, we'll wait until you can make it back here._

_Your good buddy,_

_Singe_

Perfect! I walk back over to the caged messenger hawk, roughly opening the trap door and letting him land atop my arm. He ruffles slightly as I tie the message to his foot, tightening the twine perhaps a bit too hard. He disappears in a flutter of feathers as I lift my arm into the air, grinning as the wind displaces the glasses upon my face. I lift a gloved hand up, pressing them back as he disappears into the distance.

All this fun already! And the best part's just about to begin...

* * *

**A/N:** Alright, there's chapter six! Just a couple of things to talk about for this chapter. I realized as I was writing it that Toph and Sokka's interaction, in the way that it kind of stems from the horror of the Family House to kind of their usual antics might seem as though they didn't place enough weight on the deaths there, but that's not what I was trying to do there. What I'm trying to get across is that just them being with each other, and being around each other, is enough to kind of pull them out of the darkness and bring smiles to their faces. I hope that didn't come across in the wrong way, or too dark, but let me know in a review!

Boy, it felt good to write fight scenes again. What I really wanted there was, where you kind of begin to support Zuko at the beginning (the whole righteous vengeance thing, etc), when Wazha starts begging for his life, to make y'all feel a bit of pity for him, whether or not he deserves it. I really wanted to use that to kind of emphasize the darkness that Zuko is wading through, that he IS, despite everything, doing some bad things that aren't just hurting the Family, but also Sokka, Toph, and everyone else that wants the Fire Nation to be a better place. I don't want to make him inhuman or unsympathetic, yet at the same time, I don't want to make him a hero, either, if that makes any sense.

Haha, writing a plot twist was fun, too. Did y'all expect that Zuko's wiping out of the local Family house was what Xu and Singe were wanting? You gotta let me know!

Alright, that's all for now. It feels great to be writing again, and thanks to everybody whose shown me such support!

Keep reading!

Superbleh11

Next time: Sokka's plan enacted, will Zuko come around? Also, the re-emergence of Xu, and the Avatar himself!


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Hey guys! Sorry this is a day later than usual, but I hit writer's block the likes of which I hadn't seen before earlier in the week! Anyways, enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Superbleh11 owns nothing! Nothing I tell you!

* * *

Zuko, The Former Prince:

I grit my teeth, clenching my jaw against the pain as I pull tightly on the bandaging. My shoulder screams out, the hurt of the cut ripping through my chest and down my arm, melting from a mere stinging into a broad, unquenchable fire. Through the tears that bubble up in the corners of my eyes, I wrap the coarse bandaging around itself, tightening it into a firm knot. I let out a long, drawn out sigh of relief, as I realize that the stitches haven't broken

I stand up, feeling the deep, sickly purple bruise that stretches up from my side groan painfully in protest. _Stupid! _Each of these injuries, a clear, distinct failure, a definable result of my own idiocy. It was moronic and pointless to bring both swords into that slash, leaving my back exposed for a clumsy tough with a knife blade. And if I had kept moving, stayed fluid and hard to locate, I wouldn't be nursing these damnable bruised ribs on my right side. Is this how I avenge Xiang? Like some clumsy oaf, whose only true advantage lies in having bigger weapons than everyone else?

No.

I'll fight through the pain, freeing my mind from the limitations it puts upon my physical and mental abilities, and enact the purge that I vowed to myself that I would complete. I won't make the same mistakes next time.

I let the roll of bandages flop from my limp fingers onto the supply kit, before walking to the mouth of the cave, to get a view of the morning sun that drenches the city. The gritty floor crunches underfoot as I let the slight heat of the fall daylight wash over my exposed chest, dulling out the painful bite of the shoulder wound.

The city doesn't look gilded this time. The light is too harsh, melting from an enlightening sheen to an exposing glare, uncovering the filth, the grime, the decay that stretches over what could be a great Nation. As the grimace tenses my face, I turn, descending back into the cave. It's time to plot my next move.

I can't go back to the apartment. Not for supplies, not for anything. I know, at the very least, that Sokka and Toph are going to have me in their minds upon seeing the sword wounds wracking the bodies of the dead filth, and I don't want to see them. I'd prefer not to get into a confrontation with the pair: not because I have any doubts in my abilities to beat them, but because I'd undoubtedly have to reach into my Firebending, which would give the military and the bastard Council a focus point on which to deploy cadres of soldiers that would make it damnably hard to move. And I'm not ready to leave this city yet.

I'm not stupid enough to believe that I wiped out the entire Family within the Imperial City. I purged twenty people at the most from the house, and the kinds of actions that the Family undergoes would require an extensive network of at least fifty or sixty people. There are a lot more targets to take out within that city, and I have to find a way to get them to expose themselves.

In addition, before I gutted him like the fish he was, that Lieutenant introduced two new names into my equations: Jiro, known as the Mouse, and an assassin named Singe. Apparently, these two had explicit roles in Xiang's death, which puts them very high up on my list of targets. However, I don't have any other leads on the pair right now, other than the names, which means I have a lot more work to do.

Someone within the Family is going to try and reconnect the network, now that the snake's head has been chopped off. At the very least, it will be held in order to decide whether to move on or disband, and it will be held sooner rather than later. This is what I need to get in on. These guys are smart enough to have some kind of information network at hand to be used in case of emergency, which I need to crack somehow. This means going into the city, under disguise, and listening in to some shady conversations.

I look back into the cave, my eyes resting upon the image of a thick, dark cloak pooled upon the ground like a thick liquid. Fortunately, it's cold enough to justify using it.

* * *

Sokka of the Water Tribe:

The scruff upon the man's face is matted and coarse; uncomfortable looking, as though it constantly prickles against the man's face, but he seems to take no mind as he looks up at me nervously. I cross my arms, putting on the hardest gaze I can manage as he digs his hands into his filthy coat pockets.

"I'm not here to bring you in," I tell him, as his nervous eyes shift to the busy alleyway that surrounds us, consistently resting upon escape routes and exit strategies. He seems to relax a little at the information, the filthy green of his long jacket seeming to shrug downwards slightly, as though the muscles in his shoulder were being suddenly relaxed.

"Listen," he says, his voice rough and coarse as his beard, "I can't keep snitching for you guys. Others are gonna start getting suspicious, and if they figure out what's goin' on, I ain't gonna have much longer on this Earth."

"We don't want any information from you," Toph says, beside me. Man, how does she do it? It's so hard to keep this tough facade up, to refrain from letting my personality slide through when dealing with agents and snitches like Pinzu, but she has that demeanor that is both stoic and dangerous at the same time, as though any possible spark of anger would light up into an explosion of Earthbending and pain. And it's totally effortless!

We both felt a lot better, about a lot of things, after we went through the mechanics of my plan. It still depends on Zuko, but both Toph and I feel confident that this will work, at least to the point of giving us the ability to discuss things with him. And, after all, he's come around before. Why not now? He's still got friends in me and in Toph.

So, our spirits were pretty high this morning, as we set out. Toph seemed to be a little more like Toph, and I felt the joking nature leak out of me, evaporating some of the seriousness that has plagued us over the last few days. It's been good. This will work. But for now, I have to maintain the seriousness and barely-controlled anger in order to successfully manage him.

"No information?" he asks, his suspicions and fears far from appeased, "What then? What else could I possibly do for you?"

"Relax, Pinzu," I say, letting an air of exasperation run from my mouth, "We don't need you to do anything too dangerous. We want you to plant information. Start a rumor, one that we need to spread throughout the city's underbelly by tonight."

His wet, beady eyes jerk back to meet mine, as confusion sets in. We've never asked him to do something like this before, which seems to instill more fear and suspicion within him. I see his eyes begin to moisten even further, taking on that feral, rat-like flight instinct as he begins to take view of the exit in the alleyway. I harden my expression, hoping to convey seriousness as a sudden, rhythmic slapping noise becomes prevalent in my ears.

I glance to my left, my gaze following the pops to Toph standing beside me, tapping her foot impatiently upon the coarse pavement. The fleshy slaps rip through the air, drawing not only mine but Pinzu's gaze as well. His tiny eyes seem to double in size as he watches her foot rise from the ground, then fall again, contacting and completing a circuit like lightening striking metal. Her eyes stare blankly out into nothing, her mouth curled into a slight frown, expressing nothing but perhaps boredom, yet the implied threat carried by her lethal foot resting against the ground carries through to Pinzu's cowardly heart.

"What..." he begins, his eyes darting furtively back and forth between me and Toph, "What do I need to spread?"

"A rumor about the Family. I want word around town to say that the remaining members are going to meet tonight, at midnight, in _the log cabin_. I need that term used verbatim. Do you understand?" I ask, lowering my chin and staring at him admonishingly.

He swallows. "Yeah, yeah I understand. I'll put the word out, by tonight, every scum sucker in the bars will have heard," he says, running a nervous hand through his greasy hair, "But what I don't get is why you need this out. The Family ain't gonna believe it, not for a second. Their information network is too solid to be penetrated like this, and I'm sure they've already got another plan going."

I can't stop the grin from worming it's way across my face as I rest a firm, yet somewhat affectionate hand atop his filthy coat shoulder. "We're not trying to fool the Family."

He shrugs the hand off before rounding on his heel and disappearing back out of the alley. He huddles like a crab underneath the coat, bringing it up so as to protect him from the cold day. I look down at the hand that had rested on his shoulder, observe the blackened grit sitting upon my palm, and brush it off disgustedly against my tunic.

"That was easy," Toph says, twisting her neck sharply to the right and stretching until she manages to coax a bony pop out of it. I look down at her, the grin on my face stretching even further.

"Toph. The tapping foot. Holy crap."

She flashes a smile that matches my own, slaps me playfully on the back with a little more strength than she needs, and says, "And don't you forget it, Snoozles."

* * *

Aang, the Avatar:

"Get down!"

The words bubble from my throat as a shriek, rife with hysteria, devoid of the composure typically expected of the Avatar. But these are extraordinary circumstances. I felt the tremor within the air as the Fire Nation ballistae were deployed, screaming a death song as gravity began to drag it home. My fists harden against the glider staff, as I fight through the desperation exploding within me to find the serenity and balance that I need. Years of training culminate in the flowing wind that circles around, blowing cold against my bald scalp, jarring the dust from the ground into a cloud that whirls away from me.

I feel the scrambling of Earth Kingdom soldiers behind me: the tremors of their voices carry through my body, the frantic nature of their pursuit of cover pulses in my chest, the beads of sweat that dribble from overheated faces to the ground, the swirl of dust they kick up. I perceive every motion, every action, yet not with any of my physical senses. Milliseconds pass, feeling like hours as the ever-present surrounding of air takes me into its embrace.

I leap through the air, allowing the wind to carry my lithe form up, swirling around and flipping me through the air, as I unleash the tornado that circulates violently in my chest upon the rapidly falling projectile. As I float to the ground, my eyes, sore from the tensed muscles of my face, focus upon the blast, waiting to see the decimation of the fireball.

The blast of hurricane-force winds misses the center by inches, slamming into the side and twisting it violently in the air. My eyes widen in fear and despondency as it fails to shatter, instead separating into five separate missiles, hurtling downward. Something leaves my lips, drowned out amidst the scream of the falling fire as I slam the staff downwards, attempting to raise a solid earthen shield.

A sudden drum-roll of falling debris instantly deafens me as the staff makes contact with the ground. Too late!

I can't tell if I'm screaming, flailing, moving, anything as the force of the exploding fireballs turns my world upside down. My oneness, my center, is gone amidst the rush of violent heat, wind, noise, and dust. Suddenly, I realize that I've stopped falling, as I am awakened to a harsh pain in my side. I pick myself up off the ground, loosened earth covering my hands as I prop myself up. A fierce ringing, emanating from deep inside my skull, ricochets through my ears, dulling my senses.

Panicked, I suck in a deep breath of air, only to have my chest explode in pain as I violently cough up a thick cloud of dust. I open my eyes to a gritty sea of dull brown: the massive resonant dust cloud and sand cling to my eyes, defying the wellspring of tears that arise to fight them. I stumble away, realizing that, by some miracle, I managed to keep a hold of my staff.

Vague figures, black silhouettes against the muddy brown that surrounds me, make themselves known: figures of Earthbenders in full uniform, holding themselves as though wounded.

My hearing comes back slowly, accompanied by a low hum that takes me awhile to fully comprehend. Once it clarifies, whirring into a bright comprehensible noise, I realize that the hum is in fact the groans of the wounded; I wish that I still didn't have the hearing.

A violent lurch in the center of my chest doubles me over; coughs, violent, harsh and stuttered, rip their way from my chest into my throat. I see more than feel muddy saliva, browned with dust and grit, drip from my open mouth as I struggle to fully regain my senses.

A stuttered snare drum of pops suddenly bristles through to my consciousness as I realize what's going on. Lumps of fear, hopelessness and despondency settle into the pits of my stomach as the comprehension settles in: the Loyalist Firebender forces have attacked amidst the confusion caused by the explosion of the separating fireballs. We have no chance at this point: the Earthbenders, confused, out of rank, scattered will present no obstacle to the murderous Loyalists. We're caught, dead men. I have to signal a retreat, get as many out of the crisis zone as possible.

Xu was twelve steps ahead of us all day. General Heung's sudden flank offensive seemed like a sound strategy as we devised it at the table: in the dead of night, we pull a full battalion of Earthbenders from the city into the hidden safety of the outlying hills. Then, when the regular siege fire from the ballistae and trebuchets began, I would lead the battalion in to significantly hurt the much larger Loyalist invasion army from two fronts. We knew it was a dangerous move to make, but the Earth Kingdom reinforcements are still almost a week away, and there is very little we can do to hold Dai Tso for that long. We needed a gamble. But, when we gave the signal for the attack, we found that half the trebuchets had already been turned around, facing our imminent attack. General Xu had anticipated our move, and readied his army ahead of time. The only thing this offensive managed to do was divide our forces, with half of us totally unable to reach the city walls.

I thought I could hold off the trebuchet fire, at least enough for our battalion to still cause some damage, but I failed. The only thing left is to attempt to retreat, and pray that there's still some route left for our battalion to get into the city. But, if Xu has any kind of a brain on him, which he clearly has, we're not going to get through. Not even with the powers of the Avatar.

I see armored shapes through the haze of dust, and a rage builds within me: cold, furious, born out of awful, tumultuous disappointment. The rage turns into Bending, as I use the air to feel the dust flowing through the air, swirling it around, pooling it as I work to coagulate then, to condense them from a hazy cloud into floating boulders; projectiles.

I grit my teeth as I whip my body through the air, allowing the wind to pour from me and flow around the suspended missiles. They blast away, sailing over the ground with dizzying speed, breaking apart and slamming into the organized rank of Loyalist soldiers advancing up the hill. Gritty, earthen crashes and explosions decorate the air as the ranks fall, forming a sudden bubble in the front lines. My opportunity!

Muscular instinct whips the glider open, forming bulges of air underneath that whip me through the sky and away from the front line. I sail through the air in long, lazy swoops, feeling the wind blast across my face and through my clothes as I turn the craft away and float away from the field. The troops know that this is the signal for retreat, but as I peer down at the battle below, I see that my order is totally unnecessary. My stomach turns to lead as I watch the scene below me.

At least half the Loyalist army is on this attack. Full ranks, formed and unleashing plumes of flame in devastating order, push through the scattered Earthbenders. Blackened uniforms litter the ground; the few Earth Kingdom soldiers that I observe forming counter-ranks are overwhelmed in seconds, turning and fleeing as the flames lick into them. It's pure devastation, and I wince as the beginnings of tears begin to dribble out of my eyes. There's too many for me to have any hope of routing them.

But that doesn't mean I can't help!

I allow the sweeping current of the air to pluck my glider from it's current route and bring it around, tilting the nose down to aim at the ranks of Firebenders. Up in the air, the powers of Fire, Earth, and Water are denied to me, but Air was my first discipline, and I am far from defenseless up here.

I close my eyes, centering myself as the air begins to build behind the glider. I feel the power of the wind intensify around me as the glider picks up speed, transforming the distinct images of Benders battling into a blurry haze of green and red. I whip around to the red side, and twist the glider down through the air. The light wooden frame of the glider creaks and bends dangerously, but I know that it's stronger than it looks, and I let the excess vortexes of air slip from the glider to the ranks of Firebenders.

It hits them like a brick wall moving at the speed of a diving falcon. As the glider slows I see the men blown over, ripped from the ground and tossed like toys through the air. The distinct ringing and clattering of metal sings through the air as the flying figures crash downwards, sowing disunity and disorder amongst the ranks, and stopping them in their tracks. A grin alights my face as I pull the glider through the streams of air back above the battlefield, only to have it dissipate as I see the minor dent it made.

The Earthbenders are still fleeing for their lives, and the Firebenders are still descending upon them like Platypus Bears to their prey. I grit my teeth against the wave of hopelessness that threatens to rip through my center, and prepare for a second assault. Any time I can give them will help save lives.

As I prepare to gather the currents around me, a sudden shrill ring flies through my ears, ripping my attention from the matter at hand to the central base with the steam-powered Rolling Fortress sitting amidst the siege. The towering steam whistle, rising above the center of the fortress like a freakish antenna emits a clear, distinct plume of evaporated water, wispily floating into the air. Confusion blossoms in my chest as I peer downwards. That whistle is the Loyalist signal to retreat!

Sure enough, the ranks of Firebenders begin to pull away, retreating in perfect order back towards the camp. Stricken Earthbenders begin to pull themselves up off the ground, watching the Loyalists leave, their movements mirroring the sheer puzzlement that runs through me.

They had us up against the wall, utterly decimated and totally without hope! For what possible reason did they retreat?

* * *

Toph Bei Fong:

The plan is a good one, but I have to admit, I'm pretty nervous. It makes a lot of sense: Zuko, having taken apart the main head of the Family in the city, is going to look to finish the job by taking out all of the other members in the city. So, he's going to come back into the city, to search for rumors or any information he can glean. That makes it easy for us to put down a false rumor that will end up luring him, and only him, to the location of our choosing at midnight.

A smirk comes to my face. The location. I've got to hand it to Snoozles, he out-did himself this time. The "log cabin". Anyone who knows anything about the Family knows that, in all likelihood, the leader is that fat businessman, Todhe. And anyone who knows anything about Fire Nation royalty knows that Todhe comes from a very famously influential family, that fell out of power during the fall of the Fire Nation all those years ago. They had a mansion, a wooden one, now abandoned on the outskirts of town. This will lead someone as smart as Zuko straight to that old mansion, figuring that "log cabin" is a code word for the old wooden house that Todhe's family originally came from. It's a smart play, and I'd take it as a sure bet that Zuko's going to sneak into the "log cabin" at midnight tonight.

Course, I'd never let Sokka know that I think it was a smart move. At least, not until he needs it.

But I can't quench the nervousness in the pit of my stomach. I tried to eat, but the food turned to ash within my mouth, dried and dissolved into a pile of dread. I know where the dread comes from: I know why it's there, and I know how it got there. It's the big flaw in the plan.

Even if everything works perfectly, even if we lure Zuko in and meet with him, the ultimate outcome is totally dependent upon how he reacts to us. If he refuses to stop, if he stands before us and vows to continue, then we have no choice. We have to fight. And that's not something that I want to do.

The mansion is held up by dry, rotted wood. I don't doubt that we can win a fight against Zuko, because his Firebending will be extremely limited by the surroundings. The place will go up like a pile of matches if he misses with even one blast, so he'll be stuck with the swords, whereas with a stone floor, I won't suffer from any such impediment. It's just that I don't want it to come to that. I desperately don't want it to come to that. Zuko is one of us, one of me, Sokka, Katara, and Aang, and he's suffered about as much as anybody I've ever known. He doesn't deserve to rot in a jail cell, not after what the Family did to him, what they took from him.

"Toph, we'll do everything we can to keep it from coming to that," Sokka says.

I jump a little at the voice, jerked out of my internalization back into the real world. My feet shift against the floor, pressing against the grit and reading the vibrations to form a better picture of him, propped up on his elbows in a chair. I feel his eyes locked directly upon me as I sit idly on the couch, leaning back into the soft fabric of the couch. It cradles me as I attempt to shield myself from his penetrating gaze.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lie, folding my arms and attempting to look dangerous.

"Oh please," he scoffs, waving a hand through the air, "I don't need lie-detecting Earthbending superpowers to tell when you're nervous. And I know you're not nervous because you think you'll lose a fight."

Ugh. I can't stand it when he can read me. That's cheating. My scowl deepens as I retreat deeper into the overstuffed couch, wishing that he'd stare anywhere else but at me. Eventually, he does, rising from the chair and walking to stare out the window, into the night sky. His heartbeat betrays his nervousness too, lying in stark contrast with his confidence in Zuko's character. He runs a hand through his wolfstail, the thick, coarse fibers of his hair sticking out against the wind, emitting soft signals that read through the resonant stone of the floor.

"He'll come around," he says, as much to himself as to me, "He's one of us. He'll come around. Just three more hours, then he'll come around."

He'll come around. He has to.

I feel the footsteps outside, and the intent of the heartbeat before I hear the loud rap on the door. It emanates through the room, beginning at the thick wooden entryway and spreading throughout the walls and floor, exposing the plants, the drapes, and the window into an image almost as clear as Sokka. He walks over to the door, his steps hurried and nervous. His trepidation comes through even clearer as his steps impact the ground, stirring the blood in his veins and letting me feel just how deeply worried he is.

The door opens with a loud wooden squeak as he twists the knob and pulls. The man stands casually, weight on his left foot, slouching; too lackadaisical to be a soldier. He reaches forward, and I hear the soft rustle of parchment as he hands a folded message to Sokka, who takes it before dismissing the man. The parchment crinkles as he unfolds it, protesting the sudden movement as he studies the letter in front of him. I feel his heartbeat quicken dramatically as he reads, feel the blood flow faster through his veins, the pressure increase in his sinuses, and a thrill of fear traces cold fingers up my spine.

"What? What is it?" I demand, standing up as he reads the message.

He turns, silent, and I feel the muscles of his eyes twitch as they focus upon me. The letter falls from limp fingers onto the floor as he says, "It's a summons. An immediate summons, from the Fire Nation Council. For you."

Surprise, mixed with irritation flows through my body. "A summons? The Fire Nation Council wants to see _me_? Right now? That doesn't make any sense," I insist, angry that this puts a damper upon our plans.

"Yes it does," he responds. He wanders slowly to the open chair and promptly collapses into it, raising a hand to his forehead and cradling his throbbing face. "It's co-signed. By the Earth Kingdom Ambassadors, Mr and Mrs Bei Fong."

A silence ensues, as I process the information. This isn't good news. I know them, and I know this is going to be some ploy to pull me away from Sokka, and back into their clutches. The fear dissipates into a cold, powerful anger as I realize that these incredibly long council meetings will extend deeply into the night, and prevent me from helping with Zuko. I find that I'm suddenly standing, my fists clenched in rage.

"To hell with that!" I hiss, and I slam my foot against the ground. No technique is involved in the action, but the Earth still reads my intentions underneath, causing the floor to rumble and shake underneath. Sokka stumbles slightly, but retains his balance, catching himself and drawing himself up. I realize from the way his face muscles are clenched that he is feeling similar. "I'm not going to miss this opportunity to turn Zuko around just so Mom and Dad can try to pull me away from here!"

A sigh, rife with grit and stress whispers from between his lips. "I know how you feel. I feel the same way. But we don't have a choice. You and I are technically in the employ of the Fire Nation government, which means we can't refuse a summons to appear before the Council for any reason."

He's right, but that only serves to further fuel my anger. "So, what? Do we just lose this opportunity to bring Zuko back? Just to fuel my parents' stupid fantasies? No, I'm not ok with this. I'll quit the stupid Fire Nation first."

I can feel the beginnings of a headache in his sinuses, as the blood flowing through them causes them to flare up, expand under the tension of a quicker heartbeat. He leans back and looks in my direction as he says, "Toph we can't quit the Fire Nation that easily. Aang is counting on us here. We can't let him down."

I open my mouth to protest, but he quickly cuts me off by adding, "I'm not saying we shouldn't take the opportunity to turn Zuko around. The summons only has your name on it. I'll just have to go alone tonight."

Now _that_ gets my emotions all boiled up. A nasty cocktail of fear, anger, anxiety and love flares up through my chest, and the words just begin.

"No, you're not going alone! What if Zuko doesn't come around, huh? And what if he's so enraged that he uses his Firebending, despite the fact that it will bring the mansion down around him and you? Sokka, with me, at least if he chooses to fight, we have a sure victory on our hands. I'm not going to let you put your life in danger like this!"

Sokka stands, his heartbeat and the soft patter of his feet against the floor resonating, painting a near perfect picture of him as he walks towards me. My fists clench even tighter, causing the muscles in my palms to become sore in protest.

"He might not see reason! And you know how good he is! It's not that I don't think your capable, it's just that I can't let you take the chance here! It's too dangerous, and if he goes insane with rage like he has in the past, he'll bring the whole building down around him! You'll have no backup!"

He continues to walk, the skin stretched tightly across his face as the thick, knotted wrinkles clench up between his eyes. His heartbeat has changed, suddenly, the beat becoming slower and more regular, but it does nothing for the frustration that cascades like an avalanche through me.

I open my mouth to lay into him with another barrage of my emotions and fears, but to my shock and surprise, he wraps his arms around me, snaking them around my shoulders and drawing me into a tight, firm hug. My anger quickly begins to dissipate as he tightens around me, filling me with his warmth, his roughness, his humanity. His heartbeat, resonating against my cheek as I lay my head against his chest, creates a flawless perception of him: one that sight could never hope to create. I feel the individual hairs flowing in the wind atop his head, the drawn muscles around his eyes, the corded tendons of his neck, the grit underneath his fingernails. I lose myself into the embrace, wrapping my arms around him in response, grasping the fabric of his shirt underneath my fingers and holding tightly.

"Toph, there's no other way," he admits, and I know it's true. We can't let this opportunity slip by. It may be our only one.

"It's not fair," I add lamely, relishing the coarse scratches the fabric of his shirt leave on my cheek as I squeeze him more tightly, refusing to let go.

His right hand releases my back, trailing through the air until it cups my chin. I feel the hard, rough callouses against my skin, cradling me gently as he tilts my head up towards his. He leans down, his lips softly brushing against the side of my cheeks, kissing away tears that I hadn't realized had fallen.

"I love you," he says, and I can feel through his heartbeat that he means it.

The words stun me, ripping the thoughts from my head as I allow my head to rest back against his chest. We don't say that often; not because it's not true, or we're uncomfortable saying it, but because neither of us are prone to displaying that kind of feeling openly through words like that. We know how the other feels: we know through each action, through each kiss, through each embrace, and it's not something that typically needs to be said. This also gives the words the full strength they deserve, as each mentioned "I love you" has the power to wrap a powerful fist of feelings around our hearts and squeeze tightly.

"I love you, too," I whisper, "Please, tonight... Don't take any chances you don't need to. Just come back in one piece, no matter what happens. Promise me."

I can feel him smile at me, the expression of happiness traveling through his muscles into his resonant heartbeat and into me. Argh, was what I said really that cheesy?

"I promise, I'm not going to take any chances that I don't need to. K?"

I don't say anything, merely nod as he releases me, falling back against the couch as I try to quell the swirl of girly emotions that I can't seem to curb. I just want him back safely! That doesn't make me less tough!

"Toph, you give them hell at that meeting," he says, the stupid grin still planted on his face, "I'll be back by morning, with good news!"

I sure hope that he's right.

* * *

Zuko, the Former Prince:

I can see the flickering hone of torchlight through the darkness, glaring slightly through the sheen of a filthy window. This is a good sign.

"Log cabin". What a stupid code, as if someone like me wouldn't be able to figure out what it meant! Todhe's family mansion, one of the only wooden ones in the entire of the Fire Nation! I'll admit, I was worried at the simplicity of the puzzle at first, but I got it from a fairly reliable source, and it was the only bit of information that I was able to glean all day. I had to take the chance.

I ease my way through the forest, placing my feet carefully so as to dampen the noise they produce. The muscles in my shoulder stretch the stitches, but I sealed them with a thick, tough line, and they shouldn't come undone, no matter how I exert myself tonight. The painfully bruised ribs, however, are another matter. Each step causes them to scream and throb in protest: but I am highly trained and capable mentally, and it doesn't take much to shunt aside the pain, to retain my focus and my physical capabilities.

The swords feel heavy on my back, the steel pulling me down as I clear the tree-line, observing the slowly rotting mansion sitting in front of me. I clear the open ground quickly, taking long, powerful strides as I sprint into the cover of the night shadows. My body twists into a quick roll as I approach the overgrown bushes, snaking around the deep, dark wood of the mansion. As I roll through, totally concealed amidst the overgrowth, I wait, motionless, my ears tuned to the world around me. The thick rasp of my breath against the wooden Blue Spirit mask is the only noise that coaxes my ears, and after several minutes, I prepare myself for the infiltration.

The wood is rotting, the finish long since evaporated from years of neglect, but it is not so soft yet that it presents a significant structural problem. The splintering wood presents painful but solid footholds that I am able to use in scaling up the wall. Sharpened bits of loose wood impale my hands as I ascend, but my steely resolve, fueled by the cold, stony rage that pumps through my veins doesn't allow me to stop.

As I crest the top of a large balcony, I thrust my legs over the top of a banister, easing myself back onto two feet. Not pausing for breath, I immediately race into the open entryway, long since rotted into nothing.

The house has none of the majesty that I recall upon visiting here in my youth. The deep dark wood now only serves to provide the house with a creepy air: something dark and deep never intended to be lived in by humanity. Dark halls seem to suffocate me as I make my way to the overlarge foyer, closing in, and reaching for me with hands made of shadows and death. Solemnly, unbowed by the eerie atmosphere, I continue my trek, certain that I will find the surviving Family members gathered in the huge open area right inside the main door. The firelight seemed to imply that, as does the fact that it is nearest to the door and simplest to escape from should an emergency occur. Like me.

Suddenly, the narrow halls expand into a massive banister; an overhanging balcony connected to the lower foyer by a series of twisting stairs. Yellow light stabs through the overwhelming dark, sending a grim sense of satisfaction up and down my spine as I crouch down, and ease over to the edge, peering down over the side to get a glimpse of the numbers that I'll be dealing with.

The sight of him shocks me, sends a cold chill up through my chest.

There are no Family members. There is only Sokka, sitting calmly in a chair, beside an upright torch in the center of the room, safely away from the wooden walls. It's a trap!

I have to get out of here. Certain that he hasn't seen me yet, I begin to ease backwards into the shadows, the creaking wood under my feet barely audible, even to me.

"Zuko, please come down. We need to talk."

Damn it! Sokka's voice, rebounding off of the room, sitting in my ears. I had a feeling that this was too easy. But I'll be damned if I'll be stopped here.

As I descend the staircase, no longer bothering to hide myself, I keep an eye focused firmly on Sokka, looking for any signs he may give to troops outside that I failed to notice. At the very least, I can be sure that he has Toph sitting outside, waiting to capture me within the stone floor at a moment's notice. However, while Toph is unmistakably incredible with Earthbending, if I'm quick, and fleet of foot, I should be able to avoid the Earthen cage she'll unleash.

I watch the sword strapped to Sokka's back, seeing the gilded hilt of the _jian_, and I'm struck by the memory of the last man I killed who held such a weapon. The mewling, murderous coward.

"Please, Zuko, take off that stupid mask," Sokka says, folding his arms up underneath his chest, "I know it's you, and I'd rather speak to your face than to the Blue Spirit."

Wordlessly, I oblige, prying the wooden thing from my face and tossing it to the floor. It clatters loudly as it impacts, stabbing into the otherwise total silence of the room. Sokka's piercing blue eyes, hardened and tight, are locked firmly upon my own, stabbing deep within my soul. I refuse to be cowed, meeting his gaze with equal steel.

"So, is this it, Sokka?" I ask, my voice rife with sarcasm and barely contained frustration, "You set a trap for me, keep your Earthbending girlfriend outside and grab me when you get the chance? Luring me into a kindling house so I can't Firebend to defend myself?"

He sighs, long and drawn out, the sound raspy and thick, as though exhausted. "No, Zuko, that's not it at all," he says, and I am shocked by the sincerity of his voice, "I'm the only one here tonight. And I'm not here to take you down and bring you in, though I will if I have to. Zuko, I'm here because I want you to stop what you're doing."

A laugh escapes my throat, though there is no humor in it. The mirthless cackles reflect across the distant walls of the room, echoing lazily and remaining in our ears. Stop what I'm doing? _Never!_ I will make these bastards pay with their lives for what they did!

"Please, Zuko, listen to reason!" Sokka begs, the hardness disappearing from his eyes, replaced instead by something soft and palpable that I vaguely recognize, as though a distant memory that I no longer have a connection to. "You have to understand, the government can't let you wipe the Family from the face of the earth with impunity! You butchering these people... it weakens the whole Nation, and it could throw the country into a horrible, bloody civil war! All I want is for you to give me your word that you'll stop, and I swear, on my mother's soul, that I will let you walk out of here, and not pursue any charges on you whatsoever. Total freedom."

"Freedom?" I demand, a dangerous smile flowering across my face, "What kind of freedom is that? The Family deserves the justice that I will bring upon them, and if you're government won't exact it, then the government be damned! I won't let that filth hide behind the laws anymore!"

His startlingly oceanic blue eyes falter slightly at that, but his face retains the desperation and sincerity.

"Then, please, Zuko, please, do it for _us_. You're one of us. I'm proud to call you my friend, and that's why I want you to stop," he insists, "I don't want to have to hunt you. I swear, we'll find the Family, and we'll exact justice for what happened to Xiang, through the laws, in such a way as to bring the Nation together, with order."

"I care nothing for your justice," I reply, my grin dissipating into a sneer, "Or this damn Nation. Not anymore. Xiang didn't deserve this, and your police force let it happen. The citizens are too stupid and selfish to make decisions that benefit the country as a whole, and I don't care what happens to them. I'm _sick_ of caring. All my life, I cared, I cared so much about protecting the Fire Nation people, doing all that I could, giving up _everything!_ And this is how the people repay me? Killing the one thing that gave me a normal life, the one person in the world who brought out the best in me? To hell with them! I'll purge the worst of them like the plague that they are, and in doing _that_, I will benefit the people that deserve benefiting!"

Despite the distance that separates us, I see the tears begin to spring in the corner of Sokka's eyes, but I am incapable of being moved. I will not bow, or bend.

"Damn it, Zuko, who are you doing this for, huh?" he demands, the frustration building within him, "Do you think that Xiang would want _this_? Do you think she would want you to throw the nation that she loved so much into a civil war? Kill people, without regards for the law? You're not doing this for her, for the people, for anybody but yourself! Your letting the grief turn you into a killing machine!"

"_You don't know anything!_" I scream, cutting him off and jabbing an accusing finger at him through the air, "You don't know what I felt when she died! Grief?! Shut your stupid mouth! You have no idea what went through me! I know you've lost people, but I have lost and gone through _so much more!_ You don't know the kind of hell that can wreak upon your soul! So go home, Sokka, get out of here, run back to the love that you share with Toph, safe in the knowledge that she will be alive in the morning. Run home, and leave the justice to the people that can stomach it!"

The tears spring to life in his eyes, running down the sides of his face and dropping to the ground.

"Zuko... I can't do that. I can't let you kill anyone else," he says softly. His sword sings softly as he coaxes it from the sheath on his back, drawing the unique black blade and pointing it towards me. Surprise floods through me, almost dulling the biting anger as I see the sheen of the metal reflecting the flickering firelight.

"Would you really fight me, Sokka?" I ask, slowly pulling my own swords from their sheath and whirling the large blades into a distinct attack stance, "You have half my skill and half my mobility. I've seen you limp, and I know you can't feel the upper part of your leg. Even without Firebending, do you really believe you can beat me?"

"If I have to," he says, "But please, please Zuko, reconsider. You can still walk away!"

The blades sing in the air as I slash them through the air, screaming "If you don't leave, if you don't get out of my way, then I'll cut you down, just as I did Wazha! We were friends, Sokka, which is the only reason that _I'm_ giving _you_ this last chance, to leave with your life!"

He doesn't move, but I notice that the steely gleam within his eyes now mirrors the sheen that flows across his sword.

A scream leaves my throat as I charge, the twin swords arcing and screaming through the air.

* * *

**A/N: **There it is! Chapter 7, hope y'all enjoy! I know I promised that the return of Xu would happen in this chapter, but I ultimately felt that it is more suiting to the fic if he returns in the next one, so bear with me! He's coming back!

Hahahahah cliffhanger! I've been looking forward to this fight between Zuko and Sokka foreeeeeevvveeerrr, and I'm psyched about writing it for the next chapter! But I gotta ask, who do you think has the edge? Yes, Sokka has the limp, but remember, Zuko is wounded, and those bruised ribs might serve to be an impediment as well! So, whose gonna win? What do y'all think? I already know how its going to happen, but I'm curious as to what y'all as the readers think will happen.

The Bei Fongs return and stir up some mischief! They're going to play a major role in the story from here on out, so don't think I just threw them in there to get Toph out of the way! Hehehehe

Alright, that's all for now. Hope y'all enjoyed it, and if you're feeling nice or you enjoyed the chapter, howsabout clicking the review button for me? :D

Keep reading!

Superbleh11

Next time: Zuko vs Sokka, in a sword-on-sword matchup where any mistake is sure to lead to disaster! Also, the return of Xu (for real this time!), a strategic meeting between the Avatar, Katara, and General Heung, and a Fire Nation Council Meeting that could change the lives of everyone involved!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Hey guys, here's the next chappie, containing the much anticipated fight between Zuko and Sokka! Seriously, the reviews I got predicting the result were amazing! Heheheh I've got a smart following. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Nope, I own nothing. Surprise!

* * *

Jiro, the Mouse:

The long stretch of moonlight casts silver dimples upon the surface of the water, trembling with the pull and stretch of the choppy waves. I glance to my right, taking full view of Singe, highlighted by the penetrating moonlight against the darkness. His spectacles grab hold of the moon's reflection, casting a viciously powerful light that causes me to wince. The grin that alights his face is almost as reflective, the white teeth standing out like some sort of odd demon, consisting of only luminous eyes and a large, grinning mouth. A slight breeze rustles through my clothing, and I shudder.

I don't know why he brought me out here. Earlier this evening, when we reached this area of open beach, he declared that 'this is the spot', sat down, and hasn't moved since. I run a thin hand through my hair, brushing comfortingly against my scalp as I plop down idly next to him. The sand rustles underneath me as I fidget, attempting to get comfortable, and I pry a rock from underneath me, feeling the coarse lines against my skin, its roughness, its hardness. I arch my hand behind my head and throw the stone, leaning backwards as I hear the satisfying plop of the rock breaking the surface of the water.

I can't figure out Singe. I've tried and I've tried, throughout this entire trip, but I just can't manage it. He seems constantly chipper and happy, and I've come to realize that the nearly constant smile that he maintains is totally natural. But that positive demeanor is utterly tainted by his dark nature, which I catch glimpses of as he speaks, which he rarely does.

He asked me what it felt like, when I stabbed that girl in the alley. When I answered that I wasn't quite sure, he pushed on the subject, and out of fear, I told him the truth. I told him about the guilt, the fear, and the horrible weight that came with understanding that I had ripped her life away. It sent shocks of dread up and down my spine when he began to laugh, then asked me whether or not I thought that there was any difference.

My instinct took over as I answered right away, of course there is. At this, his smile only grew wider and he asked me what I thought of people. I answered truthfully, that I didn't like most people, that I constantly felt swamped and overloaded by the cheerful lack of care they exerted over poor little rats like me. I told him it was realizing that which first made me slip a hand into somebody's wallet, and that I'd been doing it ever since.

His response threw me for a total loop. He said that it was obvious that people didn't care about life in general, and since they couldn't care about life, they couldn't care about death, either. The only reason that what I did was such a problem was because of fear: fear of the personal experience of the unknown, which is crazy. So, if everyone is crazy, and doesn't care about life or death, what did it matter?

I didn't have an answer. I still don't. But it didn't exactly make me feel better about anything, either.

Guilt still tugs underneath, but I'm becoming more accustomed to it, as though it has transformed from a parasite, feeding upon my internal organs, into a companion: a pet that loyally follows me around. It's easier now.

A shape comes into view: something dark and black, dug into the moonlit scene like a deep hole. My eyes peer into the scene, before I realize that the shape is in fact a warship. The iron hull, a dull, worn blackish gray bobs idly in front of the reflected water, rolling lazily to ease towards us. I begin to hear the dull hum of the engines, a buzzing noise deep within my ears, and I realize that this must have been what Singe was waiting for.

As if on cue, he stands up, tucking his hands behind his back and clasping them together in an old military stance. I can't tell if he's attempting to mock the militaristic grandeur of the warship or not, as his smile remains perfectly fixed upon his face, untouched in any direction.

A smaller beach craft pulls away from the anchored warship as we stand, watching. It bobs slowly in the water, gradually gaining size as it pulls up towards us, the oars dipping in and out of the ocean in long, smooth strokes.

As the craft finally grounds upon the beach, I am shocked at the residents within. I see soldiers, fully clad in thick, iron armor and Firebender faceplates jump out of the boat, their heavy boots splashing noisily in the water as they grab hold of the keel and pull it ashore. The sand underneath the craft groans and protests noisily as it slides home, forming a small groove in the beach as a similarly armored soldier, still sitting in the boat, stands and leaps deftly to the shore. A thrill of fear mixed with confusion runs up and down my spine as I attempt to make sense of the scene. Why are we meeting with Fire Nation soldiers?

One of the Firebenders flashes open his fist, which alights in a plume of fire that he holds against a torch. As it flares to life, I see the face of the recently disembarked man, brightened and emphasized in the flickering fire.

What immediately stands out are his eyes. They are hardened and cold, but more prevalently, very cunning: wet, beady eyes amidst a slender face that almost immediately induce a sense of inferiority within me. He seems to have a permanent smile, much like Singe, yet totally different at the same time. Whereas Singe's grin is created: consciously sprung to life by the muscles in his cheeks, this man's smile seems drawn up by the wrinkled corners of his eyes, suspended without any interaction from his face. He radiates an aura of officiousness and regality, which mixes with the trepidation and anxiety I am already feeling to make me truly fear for my life.

He glances at the soldiers standing beside him, and flicks a hand idly through the air. "Return to the ship. I will come back when the plan is ready to be fully initiated, and you will be deployed. Leave the torch planted in the ground."

A hurrah of "Yes, sir!" rebounds through the air, slightly muffled by the metallic white faceplates as the soldiers return to the beach craft, and make back for the iron warship. The remaining soldier paces towards us, his ornate armor clinking loudly as he comes to stand directly in front of Singe.

"Singe," he begins, his voice thin and reedy, yet simultaneously carrying an authority that causes me to stand up straight. "I was quite pleased to learn of your successes here. I trust that the boy beside you with the confused look upon his face is the pickpocket we discussed?"

My brows furrow slightly, emphasizing the flash of anger that stirs up within my stomach at being referred to in this manner, but I keep silent, more out of fear of what this man may be capable of than anything else.

"Oh yeah, boss," he says, the comfortable nature of his voice belaying the soldier's stance he has adopted, "Quick set of hands on this kid! Plus, he's got that killer instinct. I think he's gonna work just fine!"

My curiosity finally gets the better of me, forcing me to ask, "Who are you?". My voice comes out thin and mousy, despite my attempt to infuse it with more toughness than I currently feel. A flash of irritation darkens his features as he focuses his beady eyes upon me.

"I am Xu, the High General of the Fire Nation Loyalist Army," he says, the words measured and careful, "And you are currently in my employ. Hereby, you no longer are a pawn of the Family, but are instead a direct special operative of my army, bound to my orders upon pain of death. You will receive pay and food in a manner similar to that of my other soldiers, and you will be guaranteed a life of prosperity should our endeavor succeed. Do you understand?"

My mind reels at this information, sent spinning by the sheer surreality of the declaration. He's the High General of the Loyalist army? How am I now working for him? I haven't ever had an ounce of political fervor within me, and I've never cared one way or another for who the head of the government is. But this... this is incredible. This is serious stuff. We're talking about _treason_, not just murder, not just theft, but _treason_. My cautious nature flares up, begging me to run far away from this, but as Singe's eyes catch hold of my own, I realize that if I reply with anything but 'yes', my life will become instantly forfeit.

"Yeah, I understand," I say softly, my nervous tongue flicking against my lips.

"Good," Xu answers, then turns back to Singe, "Singe, you may now carry out the next phase of the plan. Do you fully understand what you must do?"

Singe places a warm hand upon my shoulder. I barely manage to resist the instinct to shrug it away.

"Actually," he begins, "I still don't fully understand one piece. What was the point of capturing Dai Tso? I can't for the life of me understand how that city fit in with your plans."

Xu's left eye twitches slightly, just slightly enough for me to be able to recognize it, as he replies coldly, "Dai Tso means nothing, and I have not endeavored to capture it at any point. My army is strong enough to lay it under siege and, in all likelihood, ultimately capture the city, but holding it would be futile and disastrous. Earthbenders are among some of the most powerful besiegers in the world, and taking Dai Tso would force my troops into a position they are incapable of maintaining. However, laying the city to siege has been a very effective way of holding the Avatar in a location away from here as we initiate our plans."

Singe begins to laugh, the noise thin but jovial, carrying over the slight splash of waves resonating against the beach.

"I always knew you were a clever bastard, Xu," he says, displaying absolutely no military respect, "That's why you're the general, huh? It sure makes for a hell of a good time!"

The talk goes directly above my head, just adding to the muddled fog I feel resonating deep within my skull. This is too insane to be real. It has to be a dream. Just a week ago, I was a simple pickpocket, now I'm a murderer and a spy for the Loyalists. I raise a gloved hand to my forehead, attempting to make sense of the whole mess as Xu's penetrating gaze once again grabs ahold of me.

"You, pickpocket," he snaps. I realize that he hasn't bothered to learn my name. "We have a special assignment for you to carry out immediately. We need you to steal something; something that is utterly critical to our operation."

Oh Spirits, what have I gotten myself into?

* * *

Sokka of the Water Tribe:

As he stands before me, his hawkish golden eyes ferociously grasping my own, the shimmering point of one of his large twin swords pointed at me, I realize that he is about to attack. Negotiations have failed. He won't see reason, and he's completely unreachable.

I feel my brows narrow, stemming the trickle of salty tears down the sides of my cheeks, letting the muscles of my face clench up. Fine then! As I watched him descend the banister, as I saw the fire within his eyes, I realized that the Zuko that I cared about so much had drifted away, lost in a sea of grief. This is the old Zuko, the Zuko who burned down Kyoshi village without a twinge of compunction. He will stop at nothing to sate his rage, and he will continue to kill unless I stop him first.

I'll be damned if I won't.

I've got more advantages then he thinks. When he told me that I had 'half his skill, and half his mobility', he was only half right. It's true that my mobility is an issue, but I have been wielding my sword every day since before the Day of Black Sun, all those years ago, while he set the swords aside after Aang finally beat his father. He's had two days of practice at the most to return to the level of skill that he once had, and while his complete dismantling of the Family headquarters was very impressive, it still mostly consisted of him overpowering untrained toughs with weaker weapons. And I'm not so unobservant that I missed the way he has been carrying his side.

Still, I won't underestimate him. Zuko is nothing if not an incredible fighter, and the rage that fuels him is powerful enough to make him superhumanly fast. I know his side won't trouble him too much.

I take in his swords through my peripheral vision, focusing on the gilded hilts spewing forth the lethal, large blades. They might be three feet long. About the same length of my blade. That will work nicely. Especially because I'm taller than Zuko, and have a longer reach.

I've got one chance. His swords are heavy, and take a lot of momentum to swing with lethal force, but he moves like a dancer when he holds them: damnably hard to hit, and almost always having one edge blasting forth towards his opponent. But I've got a plan that makes my lack of mobility much less of a factor. I mean, all movement aside, he still has to come to me, right?

Suddenly, he charges, a tortured, feral scream exploding from his throat. The swords glitter lethally as he tucks one behind his back and points the other at me. I ready myself, setting my weight on my uninjured leg and lowering the hilt of my sword to my waist, pointing the shimmering black point directly at Zuko as he attacks.

At the last possible second, he lunges forward, a plume of dust rising from the floor as his feet leave it. He twists through the air, again, like a dancer, and brings the off sword, still tucked behind his back, around in a vicious slash aimed for my throat. I see the arc of silver painted through the air, and despite myself, I am shocked and upset that he is so willing to kill me.

But this does not stop me from taking my chance.

I don't slash, or swing the blade, I lunge forward off of my good leg and let loose with a vicious stab, thrusting the sword with blinding speed in between his wickedly curved swords. Precious inches of length separate the lethality of my blow from his, as the tip forms a black streak reaching for him ahead of his swords reaching for me. I catch a flash of his gritted teeth as he is forced to abandon the attack, twisting away from my blade and hitting the ground, hard.

He rolls towards me as he smashes into the cold stone floor, whipping both swords around into a powerful combination slash set to disembowel me. Instinct takes over as the suddenness of the attack catches me by surprise, pulling me to the side as I avoid the first cut. I manage to take over the animal nature commanding me to flee, and force my sword downwards, towards Zuko's exposed back.

He only just catches my bold attack, which I took in spite the lack of defense it offered against his second blade, and abandons the maneuver, slamming his feet to the floor and pushing himself up and away from my strike. I read the rage and shock in his face as he lands a safe distance away from me, his animal eyes glittering as they look upon me. Damn. He's not going to underestimate me now. I was hoping I would be quick enough with that first thrust to at least cut him, but he was just too fast.

However, I know what his next move is going to be, even before he makes it, and I am ready.

The clatter of his feet pounding against the ground as he charges me again is thunderous, echoing and rumbling throughout the room like the deafening roar of an avalanche. His twin blades once again glimmer sharply as he begins to twist and swing them around, and once again, I thrust in between the striking blades, using the slight reach advantage to force him to abandon the attack.

He thinks that what he does next is clever, and I can see from the triumphant smirk on his face that my prediction proved accurate.

Instead of totally abandoning the attack, he ducks under the thrust, his speed nearly superhuman as he brings himself inside of the reach of my blade. I can feel the musty heat of his breath on his face as he swings his free sword at my side, the whistling song of the blade screaming its triumph into my ears.

But my boomerang is already in my hand, the free end twisting to stop his strike. There is a sudden sharp clang of steel on steel as his short swing is stopped dead by the bent boomerang, culminating in an expression of shock and surprise scrawled across his face. I bring my skull forward in a vicious headbutt that sends him reeling as I twist the boomerang out of the grip of his blocked sword and swing it like a bludgeon. There is a dull, meaty thump as it cracks against his cheekbone, snapping his head sideways as I bring my _jian_ around for the death strike.

However, he somehow manages to stay conscious and lucid despite the crushing blow to his face, and throws himself away from my sword before it can reach him, emitting a slight red spray of blood as he backflips away from me. I grit my teeth in anger as he gets away, resolving not to let the chance go by as I use the momentum of my swing to sling the boomerang at him with all my might. It whirls through the air, emitting a whistling noise not unlike that of Zuko's blades, reaching him just as he manages to right himself. I see, as if in slow motion, his eyes catch the shrieking blue steel whirring towards him, and feel a twinge of frustration as he allows himself to fall flat on his back, barely but fully dodging the flying projectile as it arcs on a return journey to me. I catch the boomerang with my free hand, feeling the dull, solid impact through the glove as I watch Zuko once again rise to his feet.

I allow the tinge of a snarl crawl across my lips as he locks eyes with me once again. He's seen now that I can beat his normal fighting style. This might cause him to try something less orthodox, which is dangerous, both for me and for him. I don't like dealing with risks like this.

I see the blood dribbling from his cheekbone where the boomerang caught him as his face contorts into a mask of pure rage. His back arches as he screams out his frustration, the swords dangling from his hands like a freakish third joint on his arms as the noise reverberates across the room. I feel the muscles between my eyes clench together as I realize that he's about to try something reckless and, worse still, unpredictable.

I ready my _jian_, allowing my muscle memory to pull me into the attack stance that I developed to lower the consequences of my limp as he similarly readies himself. The charge is odd, and I feel a cold thrill of fear as I attempt to figure it out. He trails his left hand behind him, just out of view, sparks licking and arcing through the air as he drags the point of his sword against the ground. He points his right weapon directly at me as he charges, and I tense my left leg up, ready to counter that back blade should he decide to swing it.

However, before he reaches me, he bounds upwards, the corded muscles of his legs tightening as he jumps. I realize that he is going to jump behind me, counting on his ability to swing the sword faster than I can flip around and counter, but I am already twisting around, beginning with the thrust as soon as he bounds through the air.

Then, my eye catches something, and the twinge of fear culminates into sheer terror.

One of his swords, lying uselessly upon the stone floor, twenty feet away from me. And if the sparks that were flying from the ground weren't caused by the point of his sword dragging against it, then that means...

Oh, _damn it!_

I look up and see him, directly above me, as I tighten both my good and bad leg and throw myself out of the way, knowing what I am about to see even before I see it. The golden red plume of fire, flaring noisily leaves his unburdened fist as he arcs over me, exploding ferociously against the ground. The clever bastard! He realized that by jumping over me, he could use his Firebending downward, against the stone floor, where it wouldn't have a chance of lighting the the mansion on fire! I feel the simmering heat against my face as I only just manage to fling myself away from the blast, barely out of harm's way.

But I see him already charging for me, and I realize that it's all over.

Off balance, I struggle to find the point to place my bad leg underneath me, to keep myself upright, swinging wildly at Zuko with the _jian_ as I attempt to re-ready myself. The blade whistles through the air as I slash vaguely at Zuko's form, but when I seem him easily twist around the sword, and see the horribly beautiful arc of silver steel through the air, all I can do is brace myself for impact.

I feel the rendering, awful slice of flesh as the deadly arc traces through my lower side, turning the silver sheen into an awful red spray. I feel the muscles of my right arm suddenly melt into rubber, allowing the _jian _to fall uselessly from the limp fingers and clatter noisily against the ground as I collapse in a similar manner.

The pain is all of my senses. I've heard from wounded soldiers about the unimaginable hurt caused from gut wounds, but feeling it for myself turns their words into noisy air, utterly without meaning. The stinging, throbbing mass of intensity runs through my nervous system with all of the force of a charging Kunagi, forcing the incredible pain into the tips of my fingers and toes, in my nostrils and lungs, tasting it on the tip of my tongue, hearing it deep within my ears.

I look down and see the deep red oozing slowly from the horrible wound, soaking my blue clothing and dripping down towards my legs. I realize that I am screaming, the sound resonating distantly, as though caused by some sort of foreign animal, utterly feral and barbaric.

I feel more than hear Zuko's footsteps as he approaches from behind me; the scream begins to fade, and my body begins to accustom itself to the grinding wound in my stomach. My still working left hand snatches the boomerang from the ground as I throw myself backwards, screaming once again as I swing the weapon with all my might. Dread and dismay run through my chest as his outstretched hand grasps firmly upon my wrist, wrenching it cruelly downwards and forcing it to the ground.

I scream once more as his raised foot smashes down upon the hand; horrible organic, bony pops and crackles drown out the volume of my voice and sending a vehement pang of nausea deep within my stomach. I feel a hand grasp roughly against my collar and see the world shift jarringly around me as I am wrenched upward roughly, my toes tapping uselessly against the ground, all my strength gone.

I see the hatred upon Zuko's face, the tightened muscles around the hawkish amber eyes, the bestial bared teeth, the reddish puckered flesh of his scar that seems to swallow the rest of his face. The point of his sword presses into my chin as the images fade, and I begin to see something else.

I see my sister's face, blue eyes that match my own, tanned skin the evidence of our bond. You smiles at me, and I feel a rush of fraternal affection for you. I know that I never had to say anything, that you understood, and I was always grateful for that. I hope that you're doing well, but I know you, and I know how resilient your positivity is, and I know that no matter what happens, you'll be fine.

I see the kid's face, see his hopeful grin and the trademark blue of his arrow tattoo arcing down over his forehead. He might be the most powerful person on the face of the earth, but I'll always know him as the young boy who loved a good joke and whose positive outlook on human nature couldn't be shaken, no matter how horrible the things that he saw were. Aang, you made me a better person, and I hope that you know that.

Toph... The impish smile that never failed to send streaks of warmth through me, the milky pale eyes that saw nothing and yet saw everything, the softness of her skin, the tender understanding offered by her lips, the violent release offered by her clenched fist. I'm glad that I told you that I loved you, before I left. You deserved to hear it again, to know the hold that you had over me, the right to my affection that you possessed. I would have done anything for you.

I'm sorry... I'm sorry that I went and did this. You were right, it was too risky, and what's worse is that I'm not the only one who will have to pay the consequences. Katara, Aang, Toph... I don't want them to be hurt, but my own overconfidence got me here, and there's nothing more I can do at this point. Zuko will be forever scarred by this, and the rage and anger I once felt have dissipated into pity and compassion. I don't want this to kill him. I want him to turn around, to come back to the Zuko that was such a good human being.

Reality plunges back into startling clarity, plunging through my thoughts and returning me to the image of Zuko, the point of his sword pressed against my throat, the awful pain reaching up through my stomach and hand, grasping a hold of my heart and lungs. Somehow, I manage to force a slight smile to my lips as I stare into Zuko's eyes, forcing my exhausted vocal cords to work.

"Are you really ready for this, Zuko?" I ask, my voice sounding raspy and forced, as though coming from someone else. It's difficult to talk around the point of the sword, pressed against my throat, but I chance it anyways. "Are you ok with becoming the monster that you used to be? Taking the life of one of your old friends without the slightest compunction?"

His gaze falters somewhat, but I feel the metallic point of the sword still digging into my skin, and I continue.

"We loved you, Zuko," I say, and the tears spring back to life in my eyes, "All of us, unconditionally. You were one of us! Our compatriot, who knew us like no one else could! I'm sorry about her... really I am, and I want to help you, but not like this. Are you really willing to throw away the person that you were?"

My breath comes in ragged gasps as he lowers the point of the sword away from my throat, releasing my windpipe and allowing the breath to come back through. I see his gilded eyes, the hawkishness seeming to have dissipated as he looks away from me, his mouth curled into a frown without malice.

His hand lets go of my collar and I collapse back to the ground, all the strength gone from my muscles, watching him as he turns away.

"Not quite yet," he answers solemnly, the words held in a whisper so raspy and quiet that I almost can't make them out.

"Sokka, please, stay out of my way. All of you. You aren't my enemy, and I have no desire to kill you, but I will if I have to."

Once again, the world begins to fade and dissipate, but this time, blackness is all that greets me.

* * *

Toph Bei Fong:

My dad's heartbeat has an air of triumph to it that puts me on edge almost as soon as I feel the floor make the transition from the rough stone used in the rest of the castle to the cold, smooth marble of the Council room. I can feel a slight smile alight his face as he stands at the podium, addressing the council sitting in wooden balconies above that I can't make out. A sigh escapes my lips as I attempt to quell the swirl of emotion that spins violently in my chest. I'm terrified of what might happen here today, and I'm even more worried about Sokka confronting Zuko alone. It's hard to pull my mind away from him right now, and I utter yet another silent prayer that everything will turn out alright.

There is almost total silence as I pace across the floor, the meaty slaps of my bare feet against the marble providing the only vibrations against it that I can use to feel my surroundings.

"There, Toph, if you would please have a seat in this chair."

The voice comes from my father, officious yet warm, carrying that odd form of over-protectiveness that he substitutes for paternal affection. I ascend the steps, and, careful to avoid using his help in any way that could possibly belay a weakness, I sit in the chair, feeling the vibrations of the room through my feet, firmly planted on the ground. I will not be taken by surprise.

"Miss Bei Fong, do you know why we have brought you here?" The voice comes from above, carrying that self-important, blustering pomp that I can instantly associate with Councilman Wong. I allow a slight smirk to come to my face as I answer.

"No, Councilman Wong, I do not."

There. The use of his name should help to prove that my abilities are not hampered by my lack of eyesight. I'm almost sure that my blindness will relate in some way to what my father is trying to accomplish, so it is better if I start working towards disproving any accusations against me here, at the beginning.

I hear his cough echo distantly across the room, reverberating against the wall and allowing me to better place the locations of people up in the Council seats above.

"We have brought you hear to consider your candidacy for a promotion of sorts," he says, the words sparking a twinge of confusion deep in the center of my stomach.

"Forgive me, Councilman," I say, filling my voice with all of the regal pomp that is expected of people in this walk of life, "But I do not recall submitting my name for the candidacy of any position. Perhaps you could clarify?"

"Certainly," he continues, "You are correct in that you have not submitted your name regarding any candidacy, but you have been considered all the same because of your extraordinary qualifications regarding it."

Oh, boy. Here it comes, they're already talking about putting me in positions without me having any input whatsoever. I brace myself for the news, praying inwardly that I will have some outlet or ability to fight against it.

"Ambassador Bei Fong, your father, has informed the Council that, at this point, the Earth Kingdom is not inclined to provide the Fire Nation with any direct aid. However, he has correctly asserted that we have no ambassadors within the Earth Kingdom that are familiar with the culture there. He has offered us with the solution of granting an Earth Kingdom resident of the Fire Nation who is familiar with our economic and political needs at this time the position of Fire Nation ambassador, and immediately sending him or her to the Earth Kingdom, where Ambassador Bei Fong suggests that the Earth Kingdom will be more inclined to hear and bequeath our request. We have brought you forward today to hear your thoughts upon the position, as Councilman Tsung has submitted that your personal input could be invaluable to the situation."

I can feel my heart stop in my chest. So this is his plan! He thinks he can force me to become an ambassador and come back with him, where he can sink his claws into me and keep me where he feels I am safest! I direct my Earth sensitivity to him, reading his triumphant grin, his hands clasped officiously behind his back, holding himself up at full height and feeling loathing, intense and furious, deep within my chest. How dare you! You bastard, you can't just come and talk to me, hear my end of things, have my input, you have to sneak around through government back alleys to have me politically kidnapped? To hell with this!

I take a deep breath, attempting to quell the anger that I feel, centering myself and trying to become calm. If the Council ultimately rules in my dad's favor, I'll have to go back with him. If I refuse the position, they'll fire me from the Enforcers, which, since I only have a working visa here within the Fire Nation, will cause the government to deport me back to the Earth Kingdom anyway. Away from Sokka, away from the Family, away from where I'm needed the most. And all to sate my Dad's stupid hyper-protective nature!

I manage to force most of the anger into my stomach before speaking again.

"With submission, Council," I begin, standing up straight and arching my back in the politically correct way for a politician to stand, "I feel that this idea may not hold the merit that my father believes that it does. While the idea of having an ambassador in the Earth Kingdom who is familiar with Earth Kingdom royal culture could be advantageous, my attainment of the position would, I fear, be a grave mistake, for several reasons."

"First and foremost, I fear that I am quite out of touch with Earth Kingdom royal culture as a whole. While it is true that I am from the Earth Kingdom by birth, and that I was born into a quite influential and high class family, it bears mentioning that I left and renounced my connection to the royal culture when I was twelve years old. In the years that have followed, I have had next to no interaction with the royalty of the Earth Kingdom; certainly not enough to have re-integrated myself within the culture. For this reason, I fear that I may do more harm than good."

"Another, perhaps equally important reason, has to do with my current status of employ within the Fire Nation. I would not begin to hope that my understanding of the crises facing the Fire Nation surpasses that of the Council, but I would remind the Councilmen that one of the most glaring roots of the economic crisis that the Fire Nation is currently in has to do with the sudden influx of organized crime. My current employ as a member of the Enforcers has led to grand results in dissipating organized crime activity within the Nation as a whole, as my Earthbending skills, which are far greater then my political ones, have proven to be a critical factor in many engagements that the Enforcers have run into over the past several months."

"Overall, my humble suggestion, since it appears that the Bei Fongs are quite sympathetic to our cause as a whole, would be to send with them a Fire Nation natural resident, where they could aid him in his cause to procure funds for us in this time of need."

With this said, I sit back down, feeling the cushion take me in as my jaw, sore from all the talking, snaps thankfully closed. That was good, and I felt good about it. I proposed two big flaws with their plan, and offered a perfectly good resolution that will at least warrant debate. I feel a bit of fluster form in my father's cheeks, and a rush of pride flows through me. Much as I loath you right now, I did inherit your political instinct. I won't submit to you without a fight, Dad, and you'll find that I'm much tougher than you remember.

Murmuring takes place throughout the Council, slow at first, then spreading into a wildfire before Councilman Wong coughs again, silencing the remainder of them.

"Ambassador Bei Fong, you are entitled to a rebuttal, should you so desire it," he says, "If you choose to take the opportunity, we will put the matter to a vote thereafter."

Oh no. A quick vote? That could be devastating! A knot of fear grips my spine cruelly, emphasizing the anxiety about Sokka that already has taken me over as Dad stands up to take the podium.

"With submission, Council, I would like a chance to rebut," he begins, and upon hearing the pomp that he forces into his words, and the steadiness of his heartbeat, I know that I am in trouble.

"My daughter, by virtue of having spent twelve years in direct contact with royal Earth Kingdom culture, will be quite easy to integrate back in, especially considering her near-celebrity status there. This will prove to be a far more expedient and efficient enterprise then attempting to aid a Fire Nation Ambassador with little to no experience with our royal culture."

Surely this isn't all he has. Efficiency has nothing to do with anything, and he _knows _it! No one on the Council is going to buy that at face value. What else is there for him to exploit?

"As to my daughter's second point, well, to be honest, the status of this Enforcer police squad has frankly perturbed me somewhat," he says, taking on a fake tone of concern that defies the victorious rhythmic patterns of his heart, "As I understand it, while the Enforcer squad has been useful in curbing somewhat the rise of organized crime within the Fire Nation, even after several months, it has utterly failed to expose even one major member of the crime syndicate known as the Family."

He pauses here, and as I feel the smile spread across his face, I realize what he is about to say, yet am completely baffled by the lack of compunction that he feels in saying it.

"In addition, I would point to the recent attack upon the suspected Family house in your central district, which involved twenty men slaughtered at swordpoint. While I would never make an unwarranted accusation against anyone, I must state that the illegality of sword ownership within the Fire Nation makes me quite afraid for what your Enforcer squad is capable of. In the Earth Kingdom, these matters are pursued far more thoroughly, and any corruption within the squad that could have caused this heinous, indefensible slaughter would be rooted out and punished immediately."

"Ambassador," the voice is clear and level, which allows me to immediately identify it as Tsung's, coming to my rescue. "I would remind you that it is beyond your power to levy an accusation at this Council. Our police force is currently investigating the matter, and your position in front of us today does not involve pointing a finger at anyone."

It's true, and I'm grateful for it, but it's too late. The Council will be thinking about it as they vote, which will influence their decision greatly. But what really shocks me, what completely baffles me, is that I feel the vibrations emanating from my father's heart through the floor, and detect no dishonesty whatsoever. My dad honestly believes, deep in his warped sense of reality, that Sokka is behind the slaughter there. He met him, spoke to him, and still believes that Sokka could wantonly butcher twenty people.

I am rendered speechless as I retreat into the cushion of the chair, drooping my head slightly as I try to come to grips with that, and with what may happen here, before I hear Tsung's voice carry over the Council room, silencing the murmuring that has spread like a plague.

"Gentlemen," he begins, "I would suggest that we put this matter to more debate, and refrain from voting at this time. Stemming the economic crisis is a task that requires the utmost amount of thought, and I greatly fear making a fatal mistake out of haste in this instance. We still have several days before the next ship bound to the Earth Kingdom is scheduled to leave, which gives us plenty of time to more thoroughly discuss the matter."

That's a good move. It'll give time for tempers to cool, and may even allow us to somehow prove our innocence in the attack on the Family house. A bit of relief stabs into the overwhelming worry that plagues me as I hear a general consensus spread across the room. Councilman Wong's voice suddenly stabs into the hum of voices as he says, "Very well. We will keep this matter on the docket for discussion, and will vote again before the next ship bound for the Earth Kingdom leaves. Ambassador Bei Fong, Miss Bei Fong, you are hereby dismissed."

I immediately rise from the chair, and begin to walk for the door, not wanting to have any contact with my father at this point. To my dismay, I feel him approach behind me, and lay a hand upon my shoulder. It takes all of my self control not to brush it off, and only slightly less not to let loose with some passionate, angry Earthbending.

"Toph," he says, his voice rife with what I'm sure he believes is paternal affection, "You will be coming home with me in the next several days. I want you to know that I am very happy at the prospect, and though I can tell that you dislike the idea very much, it is ultimately best for you. Home, with me and your mother, is where you belong. I know you'll come to understand that."

This stupid assertion piques more rage from within me, and as I am about to turn and straighten him out, both verbally and physically, I feel the presence of a soldier, running through the outside hall to meet me at the door. I feel his heartbeat emanate between his footfalls as he sprints, feel the nature of the fear and worry that grips him, and as he rips the door open, all I can feel is dread. I know what he is going to say, even before he says it.

"Miss Bei Fong! Sokka is hurt, bad!"

* * *

**A/N:** Well, there it is! And I've got to know, did the fight live up to y'all's expectations? I sure hope so, considering the awesome feedback I got last time.

Also, the plan of the Bei Fong family is revealed! Nasty, isn't it?

Well, that's really all I've got this time. So hey, if you read the story and liked it so far, why not giving that little green review button a click? We authors feed off of them!

Keep reading!

Superbleh11


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Hey guys! Sorry about the long wait for this one, the family has been moving and I've been on the road a lot. This is also a bit shorter than the other chapters, but don't worry, there's good news too! This is the last chapter before (pardon the expression) shit really starts happening, fast. There are probably about three more chapters left til the end of the story, and a lot of what happens in this chapter sets up what is going to happen in the next one! K, that's enough for now, hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own no Avatar!

* * *

Toph Bei Fong:

His hand feels rough and calloused in mine, the crudely etched grooves swirling and flowing in irregular and unique patterns that are distinctly Sokka. I follow them with my thumb, feeling the stories that they tell, recognizing almost every ripped piece of skin, every scar, the heat emanating from open portions of raw flesh. The heartbeat pulses out of them, running through my crinkled palms and into my chest. It's a direct connection between us, and not something most others get to share, or even realize.

He managed to crawl, with a shattered left hand and a terrifying gash to his lower abdomen, almost half of a mile to get the help he needed. He's slept for almost a day since then, and I've been beside him, the problems of tomorrow all but forgotten amidst his wrecked and tortured body. Assurances that he will be fine have done nothing to turn me away. I know him. I know he won't be ok.

I'm not even ok, at this point. I can almost feel the palpations of Zuko's raging, torrential heartbeat through the painful, throbbing wounds in his stomach and hand, running up and down my spine and spurring my own temper, never far from the surface, into my face and chest. We wanted to help him! Nothing, not even the death of a loved one, excuses this. We did _everything _for him. How _dare_ he spurn us like this! How _dare_ he make us do this to him! How _dare_ he hurt Sokka...

I feel the familiar dry, stinging pain begin in the corner of my eyes, realizing that tears would begin to fall if I had any left within me. This is the second time he's been seriously injured almost directly because of me. This time, he hasn't been on death's door, but I can feel the pain emanating through him. Frustration tinges through my hands, clenching the tired muscles of my fingers together into a tightly balled fist. Of course, all turmoil breaks loose as the Waterbending Council is in an extended session to debate the future of Waterbending. He sits here, comatose from the pain of recovery, while simple help that could aid him in a matter of hours is simply not to be found.

The time consists of moments, turned to hours in the chair beside him, as I feel his eyes flutter sporadically behind the tightly clenched lids. Muscles clench and tighten in his subconscious as he suffers through his dreams, the heartbeat dull and drab amidst the turmoil his body undergoes. I squeeze his hand a little tighter, when all of a sudden, I feel the unconsciousness begin to fade.

It begins in his heart. The rhythm increases, pulsing with greater frequency and life until it nearly matches my own. Then, the blood begins to circulate harder and faster through his veins, bringing gilded life to the tips of his fingers and toes, into his face and chest. The eyes begin to see, the nose begins to smell, the ears hear, the tongue tastes, and the body feels. Then, the pain. He screws his eyes shut as I hold my breath, waiting to see him react. I can feel his teeth clench together as the hurt and the memory returns to him.

Then, after painfully long seconds, it dissipates, and fades into some semblance of normalcy. A long, stale breath escapes his throat, perfuming the air as he wisely refrains from sitting up, and instead, turns to look at me.

"Good morning, Snoozles," is all that I can think of to say.

A half smirk is tweaked by the corner of his mouth as the eyes fight to adjust to the harsh light. He cranes his neck to look at himself, glances at the bandages swathed around his chest and his tightly bound left hand, and flinches.

"How long have I been out?" he asks groggily, laying his head back to rest against the pillow. His eyes stare blankly at the ceiling, feeling almost like my own through the dim palpations of his heart.

"A little more than a day," I answer starkly, yet tracing circles in the palm of his hand, "Crawling, the way you did... It took a lot out of you. You were pretty banged up."

"Yeah, I remember that," he says dryly, attempting futilely to keep the emotion from his voice. "He may not be completely gone, Toph, but he's too far to be reached by me or you. He didn't kill me, when he had a clear opportunity to, but other than that, he gave me no sign that there's anything left."

I let the sigh of consternation whisper from between my lips, fighting to quell the fiery temper that kindles against my heart. I grit my teeth so as to not squeeze his right hand too tightly before speaking again.

"I figured as much," I mutter, frowning, "But that's a choice _he_ made. Now we don't have one. We'll hunt him down with everything we've got, and he'll answer to the judges for what he's done."

Sokka says nothing, merely continues to stare at the ceiling. I can feel the wash of emotions in his heartbeat, too many to place or to identify but clearly there nonetheless. Oh, boy. I've never been too good at this...

I struggle to get the gears working in my head, shaking the dust and the cobwebs from them as I fight to find the right words. Despite being such a complete idiot, he's always so good at pulling my issues to the surface, even when I don't want them there, and I realize that it's up to me to bring his out into the open.

"Sokka," I begin, "You can't blame yourself for this. The ultimate choice was Zuko's, not yours. You did all you could, to get him to come around."

His eyes close as he begins to speak, pulling his hand from mine and resting it against his chest. "Oh, Toph, I know, but I should have stopped him. He was faster than me, stronger than me, but worse than those, even, he outsmarted me. I had him totally trapped, fighting on _my _terms, against _my_ strengths, but he still managed to catch me off guard with some clever Firebending. I had every advantage, Toph, _every_ advantage, and you, Zuko, and the whole country needed me to succeed there."

I rest my hand lightly on top of his, saying, "Sokka, you didn't have every advantage. You're not a bender. That's a big disadvantage, and it's been amazing that you've been able to overcome it as much as you have, but it's still a there."

"Toph, that doesn't matter!" he snaps, sending a rush of irritation through me, "If I'm incapable of pulling through when I'm needed because I can't bend, then I'm useless. I'm sorry I snapped, it's just so damn frustrating..."

He lapses into silence, my momentary annoyance dissipated by his sudden vulnerability. My hand traces up his arm to rest lightly upon his shoulder, the tips lightly brushing against his skin. He doesn't need to say anything else, I know what he's feeling, and I can't tell him about my father's plans just yet. Not until his confidence is back, which I know it will be.

"Sokka," I say lightly, "You're far from useless, and you know it. You've got a brain that no one here can begin to match. No one, and I mean _no one, _could have trapped Zuko like you did. No one but you could be so effective at feeling out the Family and stopping them. Without you, people like me are all muscle and no direction. So quit feeling sorry for yourself! You got beat, so what? It happens to everyone, even me!"

I feel his eyes flick towards me, and a self-satisfied smirk alights my lips.

"Well, ok, it doesn't happen to _me_ that often, but you know what I mean."

He smirks in silent joking reproach, which I let slide under the circumstances. He got hit pretty hard, after all. I realize what I have to say next, and I pick my words carefully ahead of time, not wanting to reveal too much at this point.

"Sokka," I begin, careful to say only the truth, "I have a meeting I'm supposed to go to, with Tsung, Farzu and Lo Dai. To discuss the allegations swimming around. I'm going to tell them it was Zuko... I don't want to leave-"

"Please," he says, flashing me a smile that he knows I can tell he doesn't feel, "I'll be fine. You take off, and do what you need to."

I return his smile, feeling awful about keeping my father's plot from him as I lean down. My lips brush lightly against his, sending that familiar shudder up and down my spine as I stand and leave him there.

* * *

"This is just such a ridiculous ploy!"

Councilman Lo Dai's voice carries across the room, the echoes fueled by turbulent anger. He runs a hand through his hair, the thin white strands swaying easily underneath his wiry hand. Lo Dai is the oldest of the Councilmen who support Tsung, and also the most prone to losing his temper. I kind of like him for that. He also is the Councilman responsible for the Corps of Doctors and their positions throughout the country, which has made him a valuable asset to Tsung's cause.

"Lo Dai," Tsung's smooth, dignified voice rings admonishingly, "We need to calm down, if we're going to figure out how to stop this movement before it results in Toph leaving."

Lo Dai stops, his thin neck craning as he turns to look at us, as his heartbeat begins to lose its fury, lessening into a calm, measured rhythm.

"Of course, you're right," he says resignedly, "Please, begin, and I will go make some tea."

Tea. What is with this place and tea? The vibrations I read from him lessen slightly as he disappears through the doorway, headed for the kitchen of his prestigious mansion. As I feel him less and less, I focus my feet on the emanations pulsing from Farzu. He sits resignedly in a large, overstuffed chair, his head propped up on an arm, staring blankly out the window. His heartbeat plods on slowly within, resigned, but carrying a melancholic tone that sparks the tinder within my chest.

Zuko! His actions run the real risk of dooming us all! Doesn't he realize that what he's doing is wreaking havoc on Xiang's poor father? No, he's too swamped in his own grief, feeling sorry for himself to think about anyone else. Damn it, we tried, but now, I'm coming after you. With everything I have. I'll take you down before you hurt anyone else that matters to me.

Tsung clears his throat, just before my fists clench in anger, making me wonder if he could somehow see the swirl of rage that was running through me. He stands at his full height, staring out the same window as Farzu before placing a warm, reassuring hand on the man's shoulder. Farzu doesn't physically react, but I can feel the appreciation and admiration he feels for Tsung. I don't care much for politicians, but Tsung _does_ seem to be the exception to my rule.

"Toph," he says, "You said that you had new news for us."

"Yeah," I answer, leaning forward and propping my head up on my hands, "We know whose responsible for the slaughter of the Family."

Tsung raises a curious eyebrow: an old expression of Fire Nation royalty that, despite myself, springs a touch of irritation within me. Lo Dai re-emerges from the entryway, carrying a metallic platter that he promptly sets down upon the coffee table. Metal and porcelain clinks musically as it lays to rest, sparking unwanted memories of the Dragon of the West Teashop, and the happiness I felt emanating from Zuko barely a week ago. All ripped away, in the name of revenge and selfishness. Poor Iroh must be rolling in his grave.

Angrily I clasp the porcelain tea cup, feeling the smooth ceramic underneath my hands and the heat leaking through as I drain the liquid within. It's hot and bitter, devoid of the extra remnants of flavor that Zuko used to infuse in every sip; mere hot leaf juice as opposed to real tea. I grimace before speaking.

"It's Zuko," I announce, folding my arms, "I hate it too, but Sokka confirmed it personally. We allowed Zuko to keep a pair of twin swords, because they were remnants of his past with his Uncle, and we thought that he would keep them in a case, for sentimental value. In the initial attack on the Family house, he didn't Firebend so it wouldn't be instantly obvious who the culprit might be, but the types of wounds that appeared on the bodies at the scene were consistent with the thick, curved blades of Zuko's twin swords."

"Yesterday, Sokka laid a trap for the culprit, identifying a false meeting-point for survivors of the incident. I was supposed to go with him, but my father pulled me into that _stupid_ meeting, so he went alone. We were right, it was Zuko that showed up, and Sokka attempted to restrain him, but Zuko damn near killed him instead."

No one speaks, yet the palpating hearts of Farzu and Tsung coat the room thickly. I can feel their shock and surprise, the awful weight of what this means bearing down upon them. Oddly enough, Lo Dai seems to have remained calm, though there is a definite air of melancholy about him. Fingers knead into his forehead as he leans up against the wall.

"To be honest," he begins, "I suspected that Zuko might have been behind the attack."

He wisely refrains from bringing up Xiang's death, though no one seems to disagree with his proclamation. Farzu feels so distant, as though he is somewhere far away from his body, his mind lost and unreachable. Tsung takes the initiative, as usual, his clear voice ringing with authority.

"This is... Troubling," he says lamely, "But it seems as though we must hunt him down. The allegations against the Enforcers have a lot of unfortunate weight in the Council right now, and unless we can dispel at least most of them, I fear that the Council will lean towards supporting Ambassador Bei Fong's proposal. I hate to do it, and I desperately don't want to, but we don't have any other options. It appears that he's left us with none."

"I'll bring up the matter before the Council today, including your allegations against Zuko. In the mean time, we need to put the police force on high alert, marking Zuko as a very dangerous fugitive. He'll have to make a move again sometime, and most likely sooner rather than later."

I sigh, putting my face into my hands as I say, "That won't work. No offense to the Fire Nation police, but they couldn't exactly catch us, either. They might as well try to grab a fistful of water. Is there any way we can pull the Council in our favor short of producing Zuko?"

"No. None," Lo Dai says, narrowing his brows, the frustration running through his heart, "As long as the allegations stand, Bei Fong's going to get his way. What's worse is that there are only three damn days left before the Council is set to rule on the issue. C'mon, Toph, I know that our police squads might not be equipped well enough to find and capture someone as tough as Zuko, but what about the Enforcers? Could you finagle something together?"

I think, taking into account the Enforcer's resources and our respective capabilities, and I sense a solution lying somewhere in the mist of all the information, but its too muddy and fuzzy for me to find it. A groan of frustration seeps from my throat as I worry my fingers through my hair.

"Damn it, we need Sokka, but he's pretty banged up, both physically and mentally from the fight with Zuko," I say, frustration creeping into my voice, "I don't know if we should put this on his plate."

"Toph, I just don't see that we have a choice," Tsung says resignedly, "You said it yourself, without the Enforcers, we can't catch him, and without Sokka, we don't have a plan. I have no mind for martial strategy of this type, and to my knowledge, neither do Councilmen Lo Dai or Farzu. We must at least broach the subject to him. We can't afford to lose you, here, Toph. You, Sokka, and your Enforcers have been the only thing standing between the Family and the Fire Nation government. We can't allow the kind of chaos that would accompany your leaving to reign down upon the Nation."

I sigh, taking a moment before saying, "Fine. Tomorrow, I'll bring it up to him. We have to give him that small amount of time to recover a bit from his wounds."

* * *

Zuko, the Former Prince:

Grabbing him is simple, in a place like this. I don't even need to wear a mask. The darkness of the night blends with the dirt paint job that decorates the scummy buildings. Vividly colored torches alight tropical signs advertising all sorts of questionable fun: bars, gambling houses, the works. The people, if you can call them that, that walk around all have a similar, huddled posture: hiding behind tall collars and wide-brimmed hats, as though ashamed of what they are. They have reason to be.

I see the mottled, skinny looking man step out of the building, the thin, filthy hair adorning his scalp and chin swaying lightly in the breeze as he turns his collar upwards. He rounds on his heel and begins to walk towards me, the heavy boots clopping noisily against the ground. I whirl around the corner, waiting for it...

The sudden splash of his boot colliding with the puddle announces his presence, and I move quickly and quietly, catching him totally off guard. My arm reaches out of the alley like a snake from a hole, the fingers clasping tightly around fabric as I rip him into the blackness. Panic takes him over as he attempts to fight back; he throws a weak right hook as the glittering knife appears in my free hand that catches me high on the face. The blow does next to nothing, but the awful black bruise left upon my face by Sokka's boomerang screams out as his wiry knuckles press against it. Anger, fresh and vibrant mixes with the polluted, rotten pool that permanently resides in my belly, culminating in a heavy growl and a hard and powerful knee into his solar plexus.

Breathe wheezes out of him, washing hot and putrid over my face as I slam him roughly against the wall. I fight through the terrible, warm stench of alcohol and press my knife harshly against his exposed throat. All of his struggling instantly stops as his dark, beady eyes fix upon my own, moist and wide with fear.

"Buddy, what money do you think I got?" he begs piteously, "Do I look like a guy with a full wallet?"

I bare my teeth, letting him see the glinting whiteness amidst the dark before speaking. "Shut your filthy mouth!" I hiss, pressing the knife even more roughly against his throat, "I'm not after your money. You scream, you say anything that isn't a direct answer to my questions, and I'll give you the closest shave of your life, understand?"

He nods furiously against the knife, almost killing himself in the process, and I relax the blade a little. His prominent Adam's apple reappears over the wickedly sharp blade, and I hear him breathe again, which manages to calm me, slightly. His nose whistles as the air leaves it, and I realize that if I'm going to get anything out of him, I need to reduce his terror somewhat.

"I don't want to kill you," I whisper, "And I won't, if you cooperate. Ok? You'll be fine, and I'll let you go the second you're done answering my questions."

He doesn't move, but his breathing becomes more regular and less frantic, so I take the opportunity to begin.

"Ok, _Pinzu_," I say, declaring his name to reinforce the fact that I know who he is, "You spread a rumor of some bad information yesterday. It took me all day, but I tracked you down as the source of the rumor. Don't bother denying it, I know its true. What's more, I know that you were _told_ to start that rumor by Sokka of the Water Tribe and his enforcers. This tells me a couple of things. One, you're probably his snitch, if he trusts you to spread rumors, and two, since you're the snitch for the Enforcers, you probably know a lot about the Family. That's what I wanted to have a... conversation... with you about. Don't bother denying anything, and whatever you do, don't lie to me, because even if you get away here, I know who you are, and I know where you live, and I will hunt you down and kill you. Understand?"

He doesn't move.

"Fine then," I hiss, releasing the knife still a little more from his throat, "Who is the leader of the Family, and where does he conduct his business from?"

His mouth quavers as he begins to answer, the tremors carrying through his voice. "That... that ain't no secret, man," he says, and I can hear the beginnings of sobs deep within his throat, "Todhe... Todhe is the guy that calls the shots... As for his business... He does it from Wei-Dai Tower, that old battlement about three miles away from his mansion... And word is there's some major operations goin' down there right now, like some major hits against the _government_ and stuff... Now please, is that all?"

"Not quite," I reply. "What can you tell me about a man named Singe?"

* * *

Toph Bei Fong:

As I sit down, relaxing against the couch, the thoughts of the day begin to swirl harshly around my head. Sokka will probably be up and about tomorrow, though weak, and I'll have to tell him about my Father's plot, and we'll have to devise a plan to catch Zuko while keeping the Family at bay and somehow stem the allegations that we were behind the slaughter at the same time....

Ugh, its a lot for one Earthbender.

I swallow, cautiously, seeking to feel out a soreness in my throat that has compounded throughout the day. As I left Sokka's side, I figured it was the legacy left behind by the lump in my throat that bubbled up as he was brought into the hospital, but as the day has worn on, it has worsened and worsened to the point that it hurts significantly if I try to talk.

I swallow again, wincing this time at the fiery streaks of pain that reach down my throat, angry at myself for giving in that much to the pain. I suddenly realize that a glass of water sounds pleasant, and begin to rise to my feet to get one, but a sudden searing pain shrieking from my forehead stops me dead. I fall back against the couch, placing a hand to my head and wincing in shock as I feel the solid wave of heat bubbling from it.

The fuzziness now begins to seem less as a result from the stress and heavy thinking, and much more because of the pain throbbing throughout my head. I realize that I desperately need that drink of water now, and resolutely place my feet against the ground, determined to fight through it and get what I need, but as my bare feet rest against the cold, gritty stone of the floor, a shocking realization flashes through my mind.

I can't feel the vibrations through the floor.

My jaw drops as claustrophobia races through my mind, the vibration-less world suddenly seeming massive and vicious, closing upon me with jaws of darkness. I press the back of a hand against my forehead, feeling the obvious swelter of a fever, and gasping loudly as I realize that my sinuses must be blocked up.

This has happened to me before, when I got sick, but never this severely. My Earthbending and my awareness of my surroundings turned fuzzy and it got really hard to find my way around, but I've never had my sinuses just closed off to the point of true blindness before.

Despite myself, I begin to feel fear..

Have I been pushing myself too hard? The stress has been overwhelming the last couple of days, and it must have weakened my immune system. I recline against the couch, my body feeling light and floaty, as though on a bed of air. Ugh, whatever this is, it came on fast.

Well, I'll have to sleep it off! I've got a lot to do tomorrow, and I can't give in to some sickness now. I let a slight prayer whisper through my head that I'll be able to feel the vibrations against the ground tomorrow. I'll need it.

* * *

**A/N:** Uh oh, Toph is sick! Lol one of the major things that I wanted to convey in this chapter was the toll that all of these events have taken upon Toph. That's why I stayed in her perspective so much, and had her running around in so many different scenes, etc etc etc, so I hope that came across well!

Hahaha, it sucks to be Pinzu, doesn't it?

Also, none of the Fire Nation Loyalists in this one... I wonder what they might be up to...

Well that's all for now! Keep reading!

Superbleh11

Next week: Hell comes in a handbasket to the Fire Nation as Xu's plan begins to take effect. Will Toph's sickness and Sokka's current state affect how the Enforcers are able to deal with it? Intrigue, betrayal, romance and plot twists hit the ground running next week! Mwahahahahahha


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Sorry this is a day late guys, the chapter took awhile and I had a teensy dose of the cursed writer's block! Still, here it is, such as it is, all hell is breaking loose, so have fun!

One quick other thing! To the reviewer who penned Squirrel: You left a great, well-thought out review, and I was dying to reply, but it counted as an anon review for some reason, and I couldn't reply! But you also had a very good question you asked, that I thought I spoke about, but now am not so sure. (For the sake of everyone that isn't you) You asked how the Fire Nation could effectively force Toph to take a job she didn't want. What I meant to add in that chapter is that Toph and Sokka have working visas in the Fire Nation, that allow them to stay as residents as long as they are in the employ of the Fire Nation Government. If she refused her ambassador job, then, she would be fired from working for the Fire Nation, which would cause her to be deported back to the Earth Kingdom (as her visa would expire). Sorry for the confusion, and thanks for leaving a good review!

K, that's enough. Here it is!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing!

* * *

Zuko, the Former Prince:

The morning sun peeks over the crests of the buildings, bringing the day into fruition as I watch the last officious looking person disappear behind the doors of the large tower. They swing shut unobtrusively, emitting a light metallic squeak as the hinges rest into place. I sip a little more tea from my cup, careful to keep my face fairly obscured by the heavy hood. The tea is a little too bitter and not completely dredged, but pleasantly warm and I am grateful for it.

Attacking an office like this is tricky, because it is not frequented at night by any except security guards. As such, I am left with few options. I could attempt to sneak inside during the night, and hide in a secure spot until the office-goers enter, but security on the outside is fairly air-tight, and because I have no idea what i's like inside, I would have run an unacceptable risk of being seen and reported. I also can't scale the back and sneak in through a window, because the tower is set next to a flowing river with steep banks, impossible to climb, even for me. This leaves a day-time assault, which is filled with its own problems. Carrying swords around presents its own host of problems, and so I have opted to nix them for this venture.

I let Sokka live. Perhaps that was a mistake, because undoubtedly he has reported my identity to the authorities. As such, there's no reason not to Firebend, but every reason to expect Fire Nation guards to apprehend me on sight. So the only real trick is keeping myself fairly obscured while waiting for the office to fill up with Family personnel before making my move and wiping the place clean.

Now seems like a good time.

I stand up casually, strolling towards the office, mindful of the deceptive lack of security on the outside. I know that it is very likely that I am being watched and reported from one of the windows right now, so it is imperative that I move quickly and quietly inside, because the guards will be on high alert.

My fists clench and unclench, fire seeping from the ground into the center of my palms. It feels damn good not to hold back. This time, I'm not just going to kill everyone. I'm going to send a message.

The door offers its familiar squeak as my fingers press against the cold steel handle and push it inwards. Offering a furtive glance backwards, double-checking that I haven't been seen, I rush through, tucking into a roll as I plow into the receiving room. The ground presses roughly against my back and head before my feet make contact with the ground, planting firmly and rocketing me forwards. Fire screams in my hands, crackling and brimming with life as I unleash plumes of it across the room.

After the blinding flash, I quickly study the room, my eyes darting back and forth, searching for the aggressors I need to focus on. All that meets me is confusion.

The flare dissipates, and all I am left with are...

Bodies.

Everywhere.

The pungent copper odor of blood swims up my nose, invading my sinuses and causing them to tingle unpleasantly. Dead faces stare at me, gaping eyes, relaxedly dangling jaws, sallow, deadened flesh and pools of bright crimson. My attack stance melds into a casual one as I stand to my full height, staring at the room, filled not with horror, but confusion at the incredible carnage displayed around me.

I walk forward to the receptionist's desk, staring obliquely at the splayed body draped over the counter like some sort of perverse decoration. She is nailed to the furniture by a sword, a _jian_, clearly Fire Nation issue, that protrudes from her back like a monument. This doesn't make any sense. Sokka could never, and would never have done this; even out of commission, it's still safe to assume that Toph had control over the Enforcers and it's impossible to believe that she would allow this kind of slaughter to take place.

I release the girl from her odd position, prying the sword from her back and allowing her body to slink to the floor. The whispered rustle of cloth eats into the otherwise total silence, glittering through the room like a death rattle.

Then, my senses return.

The blood in this room is fresh, and I don't need the fact that none of it has clotted or coagulated to tell me that. I _just_ finished watching these people enter the building, so whoever, or whatever, did this, is still around. I allow my fists and feet to guide my body into a defensive stance, feeling the reassuring glimmer of flame within my veins. It fuels my heart, almost stinging as it pumps through me and I flatten myself against the anterior wall.

A sudden clatter, reverberating from the stairs behind me pricks my ears: a distinct shuffle of cloth and a lethal metallic whisper. Before I realize what is happening, my feet are pounding against the staircase, ripping winces out of me as I feel my injured ribs protest the rapid movement.

As I crest the stairs, I hear an unmistakable wet, gurgling sound reverberate around the hall, and I throw myself towards the noise, flipping around an entryway and into a large, round office. The sheer finery of the place, the glittering of over-polished wood, and the almost disgustingly pleasant odor of office plants greets me as I whip around, but the sight around the desk is what totally catches my attention.

An extremely fat man struggles horribly in an overstuffed leather chair. His corpulent fingers, bulbous with decadence and hedonism, scrabble at a knife embedded deep within his chest, his free hand limply holding a cross bow. Over him stands a thin, tall man, suspending himself on the desk and chair, gripping the throwing dagger that is slowly ripping the life away from the fat man. The crossbow unleashes it's deadly twang of cord and wood, and I watch the small bolt embed itself in the floor as the huge man's disgusting struggles for life begin to dissipate, the continuous spurting of crimson blood splashing on the face of his aggressor less and less frequently, until there is nothing.

Then I notice the smile.

Bright white teeth, matching a reflective glare cast by the sun onto his circular spectacles punch through the orange glow provided by the morning's invasion of the windows. The grin is stretched perversely across his face, almost childlike if it weren't for the malicious glow of his face. I see the violence in him, feel the need for pain and sadism pulsing from him like Toph does from the floor, and my right foot slides a little, pulling fire from the sunlight into my body, readying for the attack.

The thin, grinning man dismounts the carcass of the large one, his feet lightly tapping against the ground, sun glittering across the array of throwing knives clad in a bandoleer slung over his shoulder. Then, he speaks.

"_Zuko!" _he exclaims, "Man, I thought you would never get here! Sorry about the mess, but you know, General's orders, had to do your job for you and all that!"

I say nothing, merely pull myself into an attacking stance, waiting for the moment to strike.

"You know, Zuko," he says, the voice ringing with a perversely childish enthusiasm, "Tons o' Fun over there, that's Todhe, _the boss_, as it were. He's gone, Family's gone, you should be happy!"

Silence pervades as he rips the spent dagger from what is apparently Todhe's carcass, slipping a finger through the hole at the base and swinging it around gleefully. Blood spatters across the floor and his face as he swings it back and forth, but he doesn't seem to notice. Finally, I speak.

"Why didn't you just throw the dagger?" the words come out strong and clear, fighting against my revulsion, "You were sitting in the chair, and he was across the desk when he went for his crossbow. Why did you jump on top of the desk and stab him? It would have been smarter and safer just to throw the blade."

He laughs now, the sound childish, falsetto, and incredibly disturbing as the mirth echoes and reverberates around the large room.

"Because that's no _fun_, Zuko!" he cackles, shaking his head furiously and stamping his feet against the ground, "Uncertainty! That's what's fun! Like the expression on your face! Boy are you surprised, I wish you could see it! It's _priceless_!"

"You know Zuko," he adds, "You went pretty crazy this time. I mean, the _last _Family house you hit was pretty crazy too, but _this _time, did you know you killed some innocent civilians? There was that receptionist chick, and a couple of other folks here who didn't know that they worked for the Family. Dead! All dead!"

He laughs again, and I have to fight the revulsion that bubbles in my stomach. My teeth clench harshly against themselves and I am filled with the desire to snuff this man from the face of existence.

"Oh, I'm Singe by the way," he adds, sneering at me now, "And I guess we gotta fight. General's orders you know, kill the little lost prince, hide the body, yadda yadda yadda. I gotta say, it sounds like a lot of fun! You're supposed to be so _tough_, so _powerful_, who knows, maybe you'll kill me! A helluva good time, isn't it?"

Fire flares in my hands now, threatening and domineering, looming over the bastard who ordered Xiang's death. Now it's time for him to pay! His falsetto laugh shrieks around the room again, pulsing against the walls, reverberating in my ears.

"I'm responsible for her death, you know," he says, shucking the knife into the bandoleer, "Practically killed her myself. Sure, I had some rube do it for me, leave her bleeding carcass strewn over the ground on some curb, but without me, she'd probably still be alive. What do you think of that, little prince?"

That latent fire within my chest seethes and burns as he speaks, fueling the desire for his death that I already feel, pushing more fire, almost more than I can handle, into my fists. The heat brings beads of sweat to my face, the salty drops dribbling into my eyes, but I don't care. The only thing left that I care about in this moment, is killing this man. Brutally. Painfully. He will know what he did.

My frustration leaks from my throat in a scream, born by teeth and grit as I spring for him. Fire crackles from my fists as I let the flame within leak into a devastating blast. The resounding explosion of heat and noise swallows my scream into the mix, casting plumes of shrapnel across the room as the grinning bastard leaps to safety. He rolls to his feet, but I am already on top of him.

Flame licks from the ground with my foot, springing towards him, very nearly catching him off balance. He ducks under the attack, the smile never leaving his face, even as I whirl around a deliver a spinning backfist that catches him hard in the jaw. There is a sickening crackle of flesh as the flame rends the flesh of his cheekbone, the force tossing him awfully to the ground.

He manages to roll onto his back as I dive on top of him, the flame dissipating as I move to administer the coup de grace in a more personal manner. My knees drive into his stomach as I land on top of him, ripping the breath from him as he lurches forward, his face rife with pain. My right hand grabs a fistful of hair, jerking mercilessly as my left disappears behind my head. I bring it down as hard as I can, the knuckles embedding in his nose, shattering his glasses and sending them across the room. My fist crashes into his face, again and again and again, until there is a mask of blood covering him, leaking horribly from his forehead and between his eyes.

Breath escapes me in ragged, drawn out gasps as my exhaustion catches up with me. I stare down at the beaten man, and a slow smile of satisfaction crosses my face.

Then, he laughs.

It isn't the same as before. This time it is wet, and gurgling, as the blood from his face drips into his throat and catches in his trachea. Still, he laughs, grinning the same madman's grin, his teeth somehow still intact. Despite myself, I feel a thrill of fear as he leans forward, his smile somehow leaking between the crimson splashes that decorates him so completely.

"That was good, Zuko," he says.

I draw my fist back, preparing to unload another salvo of blows into him, but he somehow wriggles a hand free from underneath my knee, whipping it forward in a blur of brown cloth. I suddenly smell blood deep in my nose as his hand wraps around my face, clenching down and driving my nose backwards into my skull. Instinct pulls my free hand to grasp his, my fingers digging into his flesh, pulling ferociously at his hand, but his strength surprises me, as I am unable to pull him away.

Breath suddenly leaves me, as the driven nose and pulled jaw don't allow air into my lungs. Panic overtakes me and I let go of his hair, slamming the fist into the crook of his elbow and forcing him away. I draw in a choked gasp of air, struggling to pull myself together as I throw myself off of him. The ground feels cold and gritty underneath as my back smashes atop it, sending waves of pain up and down my injured ribs. I manage to pull my head up, just in time to see the madman making his way for me, blood dribbling down his face and leaving a sickening trail of grue.

I thrust my hands onto the ground, somehow pressing myself to my feet, sucking air into my lungs as harshly as I can. His smile widens as I throw myself at him, pulling fire from the sun into my veins. Streaks of flame lick from my right fist as I swing for his face, tracing a viciously golden arc of heat through the air, but he somehow ducks under it, stretching out of the floor and reaching for me again. The momentum of the missed punch pulls me forward, and I use it to whip a fire-drenched leg around, aiming for his face; to my shock, he mirrors my movement with his foot, matching streaks of gilded fire crackling and burning, dissipating the flame from my strike. Our shins collide, sending shrieks of pain up and down my leg, but I grit my teeth, focusing the sheer rage I have towards this man into my aching muscles and injured body, quickly blossoming out of control.

He stretches his left arm into a vicious strike, set to catch me low in the stomach, but this time, I am ready. I sidestep the blow, my fingers clenching around his wrist as I thrust my free hand upwards into his armpit. He twists around, struggling to catch me with a blow to the side of the head, but I loop a foot around his leg and send him tumbling forwards. There is a dull thump as his body collapses to the ground; my foot traces a circle upon the ground, drawing fire from the sunlight and transforming it into raw power. My heel pulls the fire from the air, whirring dully as it fights through the wind and crashes down towards Singe's exposed body. Somehow, he manages to roll out of the way, sneaking just out of the line of fire as the deadly heat screams into the floor.

I turn to face him as he rushes to his feet, but the blast of fire he presses from between his hands takes me fully in the chest: not strong enough to catch my clothing on fire, but immediately wracking my chest with gut wrenching burns. I can feel my skin redden from the explosive flare as I am ripped from my feet, crashing awkwardly to the floor. Stars spread across my vision as my head slams to the floor, little dancing sparkles of light that muddle my senses as I attempt to regain my feet.

Suddenly, he is on top of me, roughly grasping my collar and hauling me to a standing position. I struggle to blink away the fuzziness in my brain, to collect myself, and offering a weak punch with my right hand that hits nothing, before his explodes into my face. I feel the sudden rush of pain, and hear a roaring sound deep within my head as my neck twists backwards, my body screaming in pain, my brain screaming in panic.

I assume it's his knee that crashes into my chest, because I can't really see it. There is only the explosive hurt that streaks through my stomach, and I am on my hands and knees, wheezing a pitiful stream of air into my deflated lungs, my senses rapidly firing and shutting down as they are overloaded with differing degrees of terrifying unpleasantness.

Somehow, I hear myself scream, off in the distance, as Singe's foot snaps into my prone side, ripping me from my hands and knees and casting me onto my back. His shimmering grin, still bloodless and clean, appears in my field of vision, leering, taunting. The anger stays on the surface, whirring through my veins, but even as I attempt to raise the strength to attack him, my muscles steadfastly refuse. All I can do is watch him and struggle to breathe, as he looms over me.

"Whoo, boy!" he exclaims, exuding that disturbing childish glee, "That was a workout! I've got to admit, little prince, I'm a little disappointed. Years of stayin' out of the streets has made you soft! To think, the big bad Firebender who turned down the throne can't stay standing after a couple of punches! I didn't even Firebend in those last few, cause I thought I'd give you a chance, but there you are, blood leaking from your mouth just like your dead girlfriend!"

Feeling starts to return, beginning in the tips of my fingers, but I stay where I am, letting him speak, taking the time to draw my strength.

"Oh, you'd hit me now, if you could, wouldn't you?" he continues, "Look at you! I can see the anger! It's pretty awesome, I have to say... There's nothing better than seeing the hate in someone's eyes as they realize that there's nothing they can do to save themselves. I can see it in you now, and even though I'm a teensy bit disappointed, it's been a _lot_ of fun. Lots! Well, that's enough, I guess. Bye, little prince!"

With that, he snakes a blade from his bandoleer, bringing it before his eyes as though admiring the heft, and looks at me with murder in his gaze. The blade glitters even brighter than his grin does as he holds it over my throat, when I am forced to make my move.

Fire streaks around my foot as I kick forwards as hard and fast as I am able. My muscles groan in protest, pain leaking from me in deep pools of crimson blood as he tumbles over me and I press myself to my feet. I don't take the time to look back, panic taking me over as my eyes fasten upon the overlarge window, glaring poisonously with sunlight. It shatters easily as I throw myself through it, beautifully decorated shards of it flowing through the air with me as I sail on a prayer, only half sure that I have saved my life.

It's only a fall from the second story, and as the frigidly cold fall river swallows me, pulling me into it's icy embrace, I feel an intense surge of relief, that almost manages to dispel my anger. Almost. I manage to pry myself to the surface, floating and keeping my head above water as the current pulls me down the city.

It must take at least an hour for me to be pulled from the city and into the country, but I remember none of it. I suddenly realize that I have pulled myself onto a sandy bank, the grit working its way onto my chest, and soothing the burning pain. Exhaustion begins to overwhelm me, and even as I fight it, I see my field of vision narrow, and narrow, and narrow, until blackness has overtaken me.

I can hear his laughter... deep in my head.

* * *

Sokka of the Water Tribe:

Walking is painful, but manageable, which is more than I can say for yesterday. The sutured wound stings awfully as my right foot sets against the ground, but I'm used to my walking being impeded, and I manage just fine. Even so, I can't dispel the bad mood it puts me in, and I grimace as angrily as I can manage at passers-by, hoping that it will manage to stop any conversation in its tracks.

The castle seems particularly big and spacious as walking becomes a painful chore. The halls, large and grandiose at the best of times, seem to stretch on for miles, swallowing me into the red stone and long, drawn out rugs. Eventually, by some sort of miracle, I manage to reach mine and Toph's quarters, the door calling me like a beacon as I approach it.

My hand grasps the knob, the cold metal providing a welcome relief from the consistent sensation of agony drawn out from my side. The image of Toph, curled up in a ball on the couch greets me as the door swings open, her chest rising and falling with the rhythm of her breathing. A smile crosses my face as I can't help but be taken aback by the sheer cuteness of her, but it begins to fade as I see how quickly the breathe is coming and leaving. The pain forgotten, I push over to her, placing my uninjured hand on her shoulder and rolling her over. Her skin feels red hot upon my hand, and as she groggily turns over, I see the vicious flush of red upon her cheeks and forehead, and the sheer discomfort that she exudes. My heart is in my mouth as I place a hand on her head, feeling the incredible heat pouring out of her, the rapid bursts of breath pushing a warm mist upon my arm.

"Toph?" I ask, hoping for a response.

"Sokka..." she groans, grasping my hand with hers, "Ugh... I feel awful... I think I'm sick..."

Despite myself, a slight laugh sneaks from between my lips at the understatement.

"When did this happen? Why didn't you tell somebody?" my voice is awash with worry, and I realize that the words sound harsher than I intend even as they come out of me. Toph doesn't seem to register this, however, which quickens the worry within me.

Her blank milky eyes stare oddly upwards, and her mouth hangs slightly open as her fingers tighten around mine.

"Sokka!" she exclaims deliriously, "Before you... get the doctor.. I have to tell you..."

"Toph, it's ok," I say, placing my fingers atop her mouth, "I'm going to get Councilman Lo Dai to bring in a doctor. He'll bring in someone that's going to make you feel just fine. Don't try too hard, just relax, it's going to be fine."

"No!" she protests weakly, slapping away my hand, "You... you need to listen to me... there's something I have to.. to tell you..."

"Toph, trust me, it's ok," I say, lightly pulling her hand off, "It's going to be fine. I promise. Please, for me, don't struggle, just relax. Everything's going to be fine"

"_Damn it, Sokka_!" she all but screams around her throat, grabbing my hand again and forcibly pulling it away, "I'm not delirious... idiot... so quit acting like I am!"

This stops me in my tracks, pulling me back slightly from her body. I allow her fingers to tighten around my hand as she speaks, convinced now that she has full control.

"Didn't... I didn't tell you yesterday.. because you were so beat-up," she begins, squeezing my hand as hard as she can, "I... I'm sorry. Dad... at the.. Council... he wants me to be an ambassador. Go back to the Earth Kingdom... if we can't catch Zuko. _Listen to me!_ Have to catch him... soon. In the next couple of days...or... they'll blame you.. for the attack, and I'll have to go with my Dad."

I feel a weight drop into the pit of my stomach, riling up the acid and sending it up my throat. I swallow hard, struggling to fight away some of the stinging pain and the dull throb of dread, but it does no good. But as I look at her face, the violent wash of red spreading from her forehead down, I feel a surge of something else, so strong that it manages to drown the dread and despondency.

"Toph, I swear to you," I begin, "I'll find him. Soon. Now I'm going to get one of the specialists from the Corps of Doctors here, so you'll be ok and on your feet as soon as possible, ok?"

She smiles at me, and my heart threatens to break at the sight of her so sick.

"Thanks..." she adds weakly.

* * *

Jiro, the Mouse:

The soldier looks at me, his face an emotionless mask of order and precision as his dark eyes meet mine. I look away, my gaze shifting towards the ground as he walks beside me, my hands stuffed into my pockets. Even in regular, every day clothes, these Loyalist soldiers look intimidating and lethal.

"You know what you have to do here, right?" he asks.

"Yeah. I know," I answer. I tilt my head slightly, watching the clouds roll by past the afternoon sun, beams of light poking from between the fluff and warming me on the ground. I close my eyes, fighting the rise of panic within me as the fear threatens to take over. Damn it, Jiro, you have to do this! They'll kill you if you don't!

"Remember, those clothes are you now. The people will remember the clothes, not you. Just don't panic, or do anything stupid. Understand?"

I nod, picking at the servant's uniform, the heavy, reminded of the discomfort that the heavy, scratchy wool causes against my skin. The servant's bag hangs loosely over my shoulder, pressing the nasty cloth against me and causing an almost constant itch I just can't seem to shake. I rustle around slightly within it, adjusting it to a more comfortable position as the large office juts out of the ground, taking up my view. I can't read, so I can't make out the red symbols emblazoned in the large wood sign, but I know what I have to do, so it doesn't really matter.

The soldier nonchalantly stops as I keep walking, heading for the entrance, as per the plan. I focus on keeping my eyes planted firmly forward at my destination. We can't afford any suspicion, or, at least, I can't.

My footsteps leave long, drawn out echoes upon the cobblestone road, stretching into eternity and announcing my guilty presence that my furtive mind assures me will lead to my capture. As I cross under the entryway, the deep Fire Nation crimson strewn out over the walls in a distinctly military fashion, I see eyes upon me, staring, watching, waiting.

The desk I walk to is inhabited by a large, busy looking woman, with small eyes and a permanent frown. She glances at me as I approach, maybe not suspiciously, but certainly without an ounce of humor. She places a brush down as I approach, the wood clinking lightly upon the highly-polished desk before she speaks.

"Can I help you?" she asks, her voice carrying a no-nonsense tone that almost turns me around right at the outset.

"Uh... yeah," I say lamely, my eyes avoiding hers, "I'm a servant, over at the palace, and I was carrying this platter, and someone bumped into me, and my hand got jarred real bad. Now it really hurts when I turn my wrist. I can't really miss any work, and this is my day off, do you have anyone that could bandage me up real quick?"

She sighs, as though offended that I have bothered her with this, before saying, "Yeah, sure, just head on back. First room on your right is Dr. Huang, and he can take care of you real fast. Just don't take too long."

I offer a weak smile that I hope she believes is marred by pain, and disappear behind the curtain she gestures to, careful to favor my left wrist as I brush past it. The back is cold and too-brightly lit by the large windows and candles, almost blinding me as I press into the first room on the right and sit upon a hard, unforgiving wooden chair. The sheer cleanliness of the room is immediately enough to make me uncomfortable, the feeling mixing with the fear to make a particularly vicious cocktail that only serves to fuel my panic.

The doctor walks into the room, his eyes locked on a tablet, his long, crimson coat swirling dramatically as he sits atop a stool in front of me. After what feels like an eternity, he puts the tablet down, raising a dark eyebrow at me as he looks me over.

"A sprained left wrist?" he asks, glancing at the offending part of my anatomy. I clutch it lightly with my right hand as I nod, watching him closely as he approaches. The moment of truth.

He stands up, blocking a portion of the light that reaches down and touches me, leaning forward and lightly wrapping his fingers around my left forearm. He leans forward, inspecting it as he grabs my fingers, lightly prodding and pulling them. I make sure to wince dramatically as he does so, sucking in air and praying that the act is convincing.

Then, his coat falls slightly, dangling down in front of me, casting a deep dark shadow upon his interior body. My free hand slips forward, aiming for the large crimson pocket bulging dramatically as the jacket dangles freely. It glides through with a slight whisper of cloth, barely touching the exposed sides of the pocket as I push deeper. My questing fingers latch upon something cold and metallic, which I know is what I'm after, wrapping around it and clenching it tightly, so as to avoid noise as I gently coax the object from the coat. My right hand flies back into my pocket as I press the object in, keeping my eyes locked on the doctor as he inspects me.

My relief is total as he finishes, opening a large cabinet door and pulling out a thick roll of cloth bandages. His face is serious and focused as he wraps the coarse cloth around my wrist, pressing it around my thumb and tightening it solidly around me. I swallow hard, feeling the glittering beads of sweat that dribble down my forehead as he finishes, the cloth whining as he ties a solid, hard knot and stands up.

"Ok, kid, you're good," he says, running a hand through his hair, "You're a Fire Nation servant, so there isn't any charge here. Just watch the hand for awhile, and you'll be just fine. And don't get the bandages wet."

I offer a weak smile and nod, and he disappears behind the entryway. My hand dives into my pocket, ripping the metal object from it and exposing it in the sunlight. The brass keys jangle as they are freed, hanging off of the ring and glittering in the bright beams let in by the windows as I stare at them. Ok, Jiro, time for part two. You can do this!

I push into the busy hallway, brushing by busy doctors and patients who are far too busy to notice a small Fire Nation servant wandering around with a lost look on his face. I see the door with the lock sitting towards the back, uninhabited, and clearly unwatched. My heart slowly leaks into my mouth as bodies brush past me and I approach my target, certain that any minute, someone is going to yell 'Thief!', and I'm going to get grabbed.

Somehow, this doesn't happen, and I make it to the door untouched and unbothered. I press a key that looks right through the large hole, turning it and closing my eyes with relief as the door swings open. I slip in easily, the loss of dread escaping me with a choked laugh. The stock room is dark and cold, large stacks of shelves reaching out into the darkness bearing sinister looking vials of who knows what sorts of chemicals. I practically run through the empty room, glancing back and forth until my eyes finally fasten upon what I need.

The trademark doctor's coats and uniforms lie neatly folded upon a particularly large shelf, the cloth unassumingly clean and bright amidst the dark room. I quickly grab a coat and a uniform, stuffing it deep into the bag thrown over my shoulder. My fingers fumble with the button, pressing the stubborn thing through the hole with a vengeful push as I walk out of the stock room as nonchalantly as I can.

I don't notice the walk out, as my mind is miles away. I can't believe that I'm getting away with this, that no one caught me, that I managed to make off with a Corps of Doctor's uniform, but here I am, I realize, as the sun shines upon me through the entrance. I push into the crisp fall chill, the satchel seeming to way a million pounds as I approach the meeting place. My soldier boss eases from behind the corner, and hits me with his distinctly military gaze. I nod at him, swallowing hard as he makes his way forward, looking at something behind him and waving two fingers.

The birds pulling the carriages squawk angrily as it lumbers around the corner, stopping in front of us as our driver tugs harshly on the reigns. The soldier pries open the door and steps inside, sitting upon a cushioned bench. I can't help but notice how starkly bland the interior is, the bare wood showing with no decoration whatsoever as I sit on the bench opposite him, unshouldering my pack and showing him the contents.

The carriage jerks to a start, nearly knocking me from the seat as it takes off across the road. The soldier gingerly takes the uniform from the satchel, resting upon the patch sewn into the jacket, before pulling his shirt off. I look away awkwardly as he continues to undress, flinching at the heavy rustling of cloth and the soldier's heavy breathing as he changes into the uniform, focusing on the grain of the wood, and how it flows around the different knotholes.

"Ok," I say, as I turn to see him clad in the uniform, "I did my job, so now what? You let me off somewhere and I report back?"

He shifts his emotionless gaze to focus on me before speaking again. "No. You're to accompany me in the next phase." His voice is low and gravelly, so ordered and precise that it almost hurts to listen to.

My eyes widen at the comment, as the fear begins to ease back up through my spine. "Why? What could I possibly do? I did what Xu... the General.. said!"

He merely affixes me with a glare, the eyes narrowing, and I look away, knowing that there's nothing I can say to change his mind. I sit and wait, my fearful gaze looking at the Fire Nation palace in all it's majestic glory out the window. Battlements seem to pierce the sky, jutting up from the ground like massive thorns, a deep crimson red, like the color of blood.

Finally, we stop, and I hear our driver speak.

"Open the gate, sir. I come bearing a specialist from the Corps of Doctors, here to attend a patient on special notice."

The panic builds as I hear the gate lurch open.

* * *

Not surprisingly, I wasn't needed for much of anything once we made it inside. Waves of guards, servants, and officials brushed by us with no comment, busy expressions chiseled onto their faces as though they were born with them. Despite myself, I am amazed by the sheer organization and purpose that seems to drive everyone here: every pair of hands is doing something, going somewhere, providing something.

The "Doctor" glances at a small map he has tucked into his sleeve before arriving at what he seems to believe is the right door. The parchment crinkles as he slips it back into his sleeve, adjusting the long coat and rapping lightly upon the door.

As the knob turns, and the door flips open, I can feel the fear beating deeply in my heart as my eyes rest upon the face that greets us. Tan skin and bright blue eyes stand out amidst the moderately dark interior of the room, matching the deep dark blue of his clothing. He smiles weakly as he sees us, and I desperately force my face to look away as he nears, praying that he doesn't recognize me from my first mission with the Family.

"You're the Corps of Doctor guy, right?" he asks, ushering us in, "Thank you so much for coming on such short notice. Poor Toph has come down with something nasty, and we really need her back on her feet. Come in, come in!"

His hands wave through the air as we walk past him into the room, and he limps to follow. As I watch his stuttered gait, I can't help but think that it looks more pronounced than usual, but I don't say anything, my mind awash with fear. He gestures towards the girl, the same Earthbending girl from that day, her chest rising and falling with a rate far too quick to be normal. I see the deep crimson blush that spreads across her features, almost matching the Fire Nation crimson that decorates the room as she breathes in discomfort, her blank, blind eyes staring upwards at nothing. I guess she was blind, after all.

"Listen, I hate to run," the man says, "But I have a lot of things I _have_ to take care of. Will it be alright if I leave her with you? Just ask around for me when you're through, and you can tell me whatever you need to."

The "doctor" merely smiles, somehow faking genuineness as he speaks.

"It would be unethical for me to allow you to remain, sir," he lies, smiling falsely, "Please, let me attend to her. I'll make sure she's just fine, and I'll leave instructions for you when I'm finished."

He smiles at the soldier, before turning and preparing to leave. As he whips around, his eyes linger for a moment on me, catching him in his turn and causing him to pause. The gaze turns from busy to appraising, crinkling the wrinkles between his forehead as he looks at me. My heart catches in my throat, and I can't breathe as I struggle to look away, before he finally shrugs, and is out the door, the busy gait and demeanor returned.

I breathe a sigh of relief as the "doctor" examines the poor girl, strewn over the couch, breathing heavily. I'm unsure of how to behave, so I stand silently, waiting for instructions as he works around her. He asks her to hold out her tongue, and stares into the back of her throat, the inflamed red glistening wetly as works, and I realize that he is attempting to maintain the position of a doctor, at least for the moment.

"You're an Earthbender, correct?" he asks, placing a palm upon her forehead.

"Yeah.." she says weakly, speaking around an apparently sore throat.

"Has that been affected? Can you still Earthbend?"

The question comes out hurriedly, with an inkling of fear, and I look at the soldier, his face stoic and unmoving, not betraying any ounce of anything. Are we in danger? How could we be? She thinks we're just doctors!

"No... no it's gone, I can't feel anything," she says, and despite himself, I watch the whisper of a sigh of relief escape his lips. I sigh too, the fear still palpable within my heart as he reaches into the coat pocket.

"That suggests some sinus blockage. You may have an infected sinus passage," he says, producing a vial in his left hand. He taps a small amount of powder onto a piece of cloth he pulls from his jacket, spreading the yellowish mound about by shaking the hand slightly. It bounces playfully atop the cloth, and I wonder what foul concoction he has produced. I see his breaths become more measured as he avoids breathing the stuff, holding his head high and away.

"Please, breathe this in," he says, almost baiting his breath, "This will help clear your sinuses."

That familiar, niggling worm of guilt, a weird sadness for the state of myself returns, draining the strength and the fear from me as he slowly brings the cloth under her nose. Her nostrils flair as she pulls it into her, the flushing skin turning a milky hue as it enters her nostrils.

She coughs violently, but it's too late, as the drug, whatever it is, has taken effect. I see her visibly relax, pressing more deeply into her pillow, her hands, clenched into fists, relaxing and spreading limply atop the couch. Her eyes close and her head lolls to face me, forcing me to turn away in disgust, as I realize that I am about to be responsible for another ruined life.

"Got it," the soldier says, all pretenses of being a doctor shucked aside, "She's out cold. Jiro, we need to move fast. Grab the blanket from the bed."

I stand stock still, unable to move.

"She's... she's not..."

"What?" he demands, "No! Get over your stupid squeamishness and do as I say, or I'll make you!"

Despite myself, I can't help but comply, the fear and the shakiness replacing my guilt and sadness, pulling me inexorably closer to the bed, my fingers, of their own accord, gripping corners of the cloth and pulling it out from underneath the mattress. I blink back tears as I work, balling up the large, cushioned blanket and holding it to my chest as I bring it for him.

His large, calloused hands, dwarfing my own, rip the blanket away, spreading it out as he begins to look over her once again.

Then, there is a rapping on the door.

Time stops as the knob begins to turn, slowly at first, then more surely, easing down until reaching the median point. The click it makes echoes deafeningly loud throughout the room, ringing in my ears as daylight peeks through the opening entryway.

I glance at the soldier beside me, see the knife he produces from somewhere in the uniform, holding it up viciously, nasty intent evident in his eyes.

A man enters, wearing a garish, ostentatious robe, glittering in Fire Nation crimson, gilded tassels dripping from his shoulders. He looks at us blankly, his gaze flicking from me to the soldier, light from the dagger reflecting upon his balding head. The perfectly tailored white strands of hair whisper through the wind as he enters, closing the door behind him.

"What are you doing?" he demands, his voice almost shaky.

"Councilman...." the soldier begins, "We're from... the Corps of..."

"_That's not what I meant!_" he seethes, the words whispering menacingly from between his clenched teeth, "I know who you are! I am Lo Dai, I run the Corps of Doctors, and I know what's going on! What I meant is _what are you still doing here_?"

Neither of us say anything. The glinting knife disappears back into the folds of the soldier's doctor uniform as he looks at the man, clearly nonplussed.

"You _idiots!_" he exclaims, "You should have been here an hour ago! The poison I slipped into her tea yesterday will be fading soon! Her symptoms could fade at any moment, at which point, all of us, and I mean _all of us_, are dead! How long does it take to steal a uniform? Listen to me, you need to get her out of here and get her into the wooden restraints _now_. Whatever it takes, or that Water Tribe bastard will be on to us. Hurry!"

The door squeaks loudly as he shuts it behind him, the knob clicking as it slides into place. The soldier scowls, and resumes wrapping the unconscious girl in the blanket, tying it tightly while I stand, staring, unable to work my mind around what is going on.

A length of rope suddenly appears in the open window, weighted with a rock and landing with a deafening crack upon the red stone floor. I look at it curiously, my mind still racing when the soldier shouts at me once again.

"Don't just stand there, you moron!" he snaps, "Grab the rope, secure it to the banister! Go, now! You heard the Councilman!"

Once again, guilt is overpowered by fear as my body moves of it's own accord. The rope seems to weigh a ton as I grip it in my hands, the coarse fibers cutting into them as I tie it as tightly as I can to the heavy, immobile stone banister. I peer over the side, seeing our carriage lying unassumingly by the wall, hidden behind walls of bushes and trees, our driver peering around fearfully as we move.

I stand, turning to speak to the soldier, but I see him already walking towards me, the girl wrapped in the blanket and tied tightly to his back. He shoves me roughly out of the way, throwing me to the ground as he wraps his hands around the rope and hooks a leg over the banister. He quickly disappears behind the edge, leaving only the jittering, taunt rope and the soft noise of hands sliding down cloth.

I look behind me, seeing the now empty room, glancing at a piece of parchment now stuffed into the spaces between the couch cushions, poking out oddly as though left by her, a remnant of where she was and what she did, before we ripped her away from her life.

I struggle down the rope, my hands raw and bleeding by the time I approach the ground. The castle no longer seems majestic to me, the violent battlements seem to be crumbling, the walls overgrown and abandoned. I step into the carriage and look at the girl, now held on a bench by the soldier. Sweat glistens down his face as he tightly binds some weird looking wooden splints to her hands and feet. The rough, unsanded wood extends over the fingers and toes, closing over them and hiding them from the world.

It's just a girl, not all that older than me. They're restraining her, tying her up, kidnapping her in a carriage.

The soldier offers a hand, pulling me into the carriage and setting me beside him.

"Good job, kid," he says, clapping me on the back, "I'm sorry I was so rough on you. This is a great day for the Fire Nation, and you're a part of it!"

What have I done?

* * *

**A/N:** Maaaaan was I dyyyyyyying to post these plot twists! Hahahahah i was totally geeking out over reviews last week because I have such smart readers who know me well enough to search through the writing to find hints of plot twists! Nearly EVERYBODY got suspicious that Toph was sick, and immediately started wondering about it: one reviewer even brought up the Corps of Doctors (good one Bluetiger)! But, it was also a great source of personal pride to me that no one also suspected the glass of tea that Toph choked down last chapter, which poisoned her and brought her to all of this! Hehehehehehehehe, you guys are quick, and bright, but I can still keep the wool over your eyes when I want to!

You guys gotta tell me which plot twists you saw coming, which ones you suspect in the future, and how all of these have gone over. I'm dying for it! So do me a favor and hit that li'l green button to let me know! You guys rule!

Keep reading,

Superbleh11


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Quick note! I've changed the post date officially from Friday to Saturday, but next week you should have a chapter up Thursday. There are two more chapters left in the story after this one, and I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing!!

* * *

Aang, the Avatar:

Sandy grit worms its way into my fingers as I press my hand against the rough, worn battlement. Lines of people, formed like columns of ants scurrying for food, retreat in perfect ordered harmony. I see the sun reflected off of the metallic red armor, watch the streams of bloodied Earthbenders pull back into the city, and hear the deafening grind and roar of the massive Loyalist war machines' engines as they begin to fade off into the distance.

General Heung says we stopped them in time. He says that their scouts must have caught notice of the massive Earth Kingdom force coming to our rescue, that Xu is clever enough to realize that, even were he to take Dai Tso at this point, he couldn't possibly hold it. He says that this has been an incredible victory for the Earth Kingdom, that he thanks the Spirits every day for mine and Katara's involvement. He says that this battle will be written into the history books: the siege in which the massively outnumbered Earth Kingdom forces were able to hold off a Loyalist invasion for over a week until help arrived. And everything he says makes sense.

But as I watch the army pull away, retracting from the battle-scarred terrain in an orderly fashion, all I feel is a sinking weight of dread in my stomach. There's no explanation for it, nothing logical at least, but some force, whether spiritual or psychosomatic in nature, is tugging at my soul, and my mind races to search for something I might have missed.

"Aang!"

I turn, my field of vision shifting from the incredible wall of humanity to the interiors of the exhausted, battle-worn fortress. Oceanic blue eyes, refreshingly cool in the incredible heat of the sun, peer into my own, standing in stark contrast with the pleasantly tanned caramel skin of Katara. I smile, genuinely happy to see her, yet the expression of happiness is still marred by the overwhelming desperation that has seeped into my bloodstream.

"The General wants to talk to us!" she says, and part of the sadness I have is relieved by the return of peppiness to her voice, the upbeat positivism that I have so missed.

"What about?" I ask, allowing the air to enter into me, pulling me lightly from the high battlement and resting me upon the ground in front of her. Katara's dark skin stands out like a shadow against the lighter hue of sun-baked tan that defines the stone of the fortress; her piercing blue eyes are like bright pools of South Pole water, raining down and quenching the thirst of the fortress.

"I'm not sure," she says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, "Probably about dismissing the troops and wondering how to follow the Loyalist forces."

I nod silently, and follow her into the shaded innards of Dai Tso. Heung has set his office in an underground bunker since the main tower was demolished by Fire Nation artillery. The bunker is small and dusty, devoid of ornamentation or signs of office, almost as if to reflect the turmoil that has been breaking Heung down since the battle began. He greets us with a bright smile as we enter, but it stands out against the pathetic image of him as a whole. The finery he had swathed himself in as part of his position has become dirty and worn: scratches lace the dulled metal of his breastplate, broken up by the occasional dent or hole, the edges of his now olive green tunic are frayed and tattered, almost blending in with his once flowing hair, which has become so knotted and filthy that it has taken on the overgrown appearance of weeds.

Even his voice, though newly jubilant, sounds beaten and tired as he speaks.

"Avatar Aang! Katara! I am pleased you came so quickly!" he gushes, and I can hear the relief flowing like water down the back of his throat, "These are happy times indeed! What an immense relief it is to discuss the bureaucratic and officious issues of victory!"

I smile; despite our sordid past with the wily General, I am happy that his reputation will be saved. He was a man in desperate need of good news.

"Now, I understand that it is inconceivable for our forces to follow the Fire Nation Loyalists at this point, beaten and exhausted as we are," he begins, drawing himself up to his full height and tucking his hands behind his back, "And I would not presume to ask you, after all you have done for us, to risk your life further in pursuit, but I feel it would be prudent and wise to record a log of the precise direction in which the enemy has proceeded, so a pursuit force may be enacted by our soon-to-arrive reinforcements. In the mean time, I have perhaps one more task that I graciously hope you will consider."

My eyes meet his, peering through the glittering deep brown irises, but I read no signs of deception. Warily, I say, "Go on. What would you ask of me? I'll gladly grant it if I am able."

He smiles, accepting my caution without censure as he continues. "I was rather hoping that you might be convinced to deliver a sort of speech to the men," he says, walking lightly towards us, "Morale has spiked, to be sure, but every soldier has worked themselves to total exhaustion, and spirits are lower than they should be. The incredible forces within this city have performed like heroes, and hearing a message such as that from the great Avatar himself would, I feel, instill within them a sense of pride that they will carry for the rest of their lives. I know you are loathe to give such speeches, but I wondered if I couldn't persuade you in this extraordinary circumstance."

I force a smile, hearing the correctness in his words and genuinely desiring to make these soldiers as proud of themselves as they deserve, but at the same time, the sense of dread flairs up within me at the thought of celebration. "I'd be more than happy to," I answer, but I see matching eyebrows flair up on the faces of both Heung and Katara.

"Aang?" Katara asks, leaning down slightly and staring deeply into my eyes, "You have that look. Like some crazy Avatar sense is going off in you."

I look away, unwilling to meet her gaze, yet recognizing the fear in her voice and understanding that I have to be honest with the pair.

"I... I'm not sure if it's an Avatar thing or not," I say truthfully, "And I do want to give the speech. The men deserve it, and, General Heung, without your strategic smarts and quick action, we wouldn't have anything to celebrate. I've just got... this weird sense of dread. Like I'm not done yet. Like there's something nasty that were missing, that I should be getting to as fast as we can. I've meditated on it, but nothing has really stood out. I'm not sure what I should do."

Silence pervades the room, sinking into the dark shadows cast by the thick, heavy walls. Heung's smile dissipates as he ponders my words, and Katara has that intense, focused look that she gets when she's thinking hard. After awhile, I speak again, anxious to bring life back into the room.

"Look," I begin, raising my hands up through the air, "Even if it is an Avatar thing, we still have something to take care of. I can't desert the soldiers here when I have a chance to bring up the morale. So let's throw them a victory celebration tonight, in which I'll talk to them, and bring the city into a victorious, happy mood. Then, first thing in the morning, me, Katara, and Momo will take off on Appa to go bring up the issue with Toph, Sokka, and Zuko. I'm sure with the five of us together, we'll be able to think up something, and if we left early, we could be there by nine or ten in the morning. What do you think?"

The thought makes me feel better for some reason, deep within me, which is accentuated by the approving nods from both Katara and Heung.

* * *

Jiro, the Mouse:

I try as hard as I can not to look at her. My eyes dart furtively to other areas of the room, focusing on the thick sheafs of parchment on the table, the still-glistening lines of wet ink, the stylish curves of the calligraphy, but before too long, my attention wanders, and my treacherous brain brings her condition into my field of vision. She's strapped upright into a permanent standing position, held off of the ground by lengths of rope looped through the wooden restraints lashed to her hands and feet. The taunt ropes stretch and crackle, filling the room with their whine, inexorably drawing my attention to her.

She's tough, I can tell just from watching her. Her blank eyes stare into nothing, and she must have no idea where she is or what's going on, but her face maintains a constant stoic expression as though it were chiseled onto her face. She gives us no fear, no sadness, anything, and I can't help but admire her for it.

"She thinks she's tough, doesn't she?"

I look up, glancing at the soldier who played 'doctor' yesterday, fully armored today and tasked to guard the prisoner. The violent arches of the eye-slits in his helmet cast deep shadows that dribble down the sides of his face, merging with the deep black of his facial hair. A light smirk alights his face as he turns to look at the strung-up girl, the armor rustling and clinking noisily as he moves.

"Oh yeah, she's quiet and strong now," he teases, leaning down closely to her face, "But I'm sure that the General has some incredible plans for the enemy in the future. We'll see if she's so tough the-"

He leans in too close, the whisper of his breath wafting across the girl's face, and she springs to life in a flash. My eyes catch a lightening blur of black hair and pale skin as she cranes her neck for him, her teeth clenching down furiously upon the soldier's throat. My feet catch underneath me in a heartbeat, drawing me up as I see the wet glimmer of blood leaking down the side of his face. The rope bindings crackle and scream with all the action, but the noises are drowned out by the yowls of the soldier.

There is a dull thud that punctuates the noise as the soldier draws his fist back and slams it as hard as he can into the girl's face. As I watch the blow collide, I spring forward, my feet pounding the ground as I struggle to get between them. I manage to slip my hand in between the pair, and I pry backwards, ignoring the screams of the soldier and the deafening screech of his metal armor as I pull the flesh from between the girl's teeth.

"_Bitch!_" the soldier yells, as he falls back to the ground, slapping a hand to his bleeding neck. High-pitched laughter: small and girlish, yet filled with menace and confidence echoes around the room, filling me with an odd mix of both fear and pride. The girl leans forward against her bindings and spits roughly, leaving a trail of disgustingly bloody saliva strewn over the ground as she speaks.

"Oh he's quiet and strong now," she mocks, her grin marred by the dark crimson that stains her teeth, "But just wait 'til I get freed. How's your neck feel, pal?"

He opens his mouth to speak, awkwardly pushing himself to his feet with one hand as he covers the wound with his free one, but is interrupted by the squeak of a door. I see a familiarly-clad figure peek from the shadows of the doorway, throwing knives shucked in a bandoleer slung over his shoulder, but the man's face is far too scarred and puckered to belong to Singe.

The spectacles are gone, providing no shield between the world and his bright, malevolently amber eyes, peering childishly out. Swollen, irritated skin rises in disgusting welts across his cheeks, melting into crevices of scabbed over scars and skin. His matted hair seems even more so than usual, falling around his pulped face, but it all stands out oddly amidst his gleeful, mischievous grin. Somehow, despite whatever beating he took, his teeth remained perfectly white and clean, and the glimmer of his schoolboy happiness is even more disturbing than usual.

"What's going on in here?" he asks admonishingly, his voice carrying that odd constant facetiousness. The soldier looks stricken at the sight, the expression on his face mirroring the instantaneous feeling of dread that swims through me every time I see him. He manages to throw out a somewhat formal salute, keeping a hand firmly clasped upon his neck as Singe leans forward to speak to him.

"Wow!" he exclaims, grabbing the man's fingers and prying his hand away from the wound, "She sure got you, didn't she?"

The soldier's chest heaves as Singe inspects the wound and smears the blood away with his free hand. His eyes take on an odd glimmer at the sight of it, the way it dampens the clothing underneath his armor, the way the color matches the hue of his crimson armor. An uncomfortable silence ensues, broken only by the slow twisting of the girl's restraints.

"Boy, if I were you, I'd high-tail it to go get cleaned up," Singe says, his face inches from the face of the cowering soldier, "My pal Xu doesn't take too kindly to stupid negligence. Why don't you take off before you get a flogging?"

The soldier nods cursorily, disappearing behind the door with a heavy metal clang as it shuts behind him. Singe wanders over to me, a plume of dust wafting through the air as he plops down beside me, invading my nostrils and causing me to cough slightly.

"You know, Jiro," Singe says, wrapping an arm awkwardly around my shoulder, "I like you! You seem to understand things better than most of the human trash around here! And I appreciate you looking after the moron on guard duty. She probably would have killed him if you hadn't stepped in! Kind of funny, when you think about it...."

I laugh, politely, the chirrups sounding halted and small as I force them from my throat. Singe's grin widens at my obvious fear, his fingers lightly stroking my shoulder as he gleefully makes it worse.

"Don't be scared, _Mousey!_" he coos, rocking us gently back and forth, "You're safe now! In fact, if my pal Xu's plan works as well as I think it will, you'll probably be set in the lap of luxury for life! You did your job _perfectly_, and, if nothing else, Xu will make you an example to be praised by other folks like you! Stability! Constant food, no stress about stuff! Isn't that what you _want?_"

Despite myself, the words bring a modicum of comfort. Singe's voice drips poisoned honey, but my stomach has too many memories of nights without food, sleeping in squalor, struggling just to stay alive. Lap of luxury aside, just the idea of being fed every day, like I have been, makes my stomach grumble and brings a feeling of comfort that sits snuggly in my chest.

Then, Singe stands up to talk to the girl, and I am in conflict again.

He stands a fair distance from her, reaching out and tapping her tightly bound leg with his foot to gain her attention.

"And _you!_" he squeals, laughter bubbling through his voice, "You are one interesting and _fun_ young girl, aren't you? So much fight in you! It's incredible!"

She makes a grin that matches his before speaking again.

"Come a little closer and I'll show you how much fight I have left."

I feel that weird mix of fear and pride bubble up through my chest at the sheer menace that she puts into her voice, despite her defenseless position. Singe apparently feels it as well, because he leaps from the ground, rapidly clapping his hands together as laughter pours from his throat. The grin seems to stretch across the entirety of his face as he manages to speak again.

"Wow! Oh, _wow!_" he gushes, "I felt some _fear _at that one! You would do it, too, wouldn't you? You'd attack me, even though I could kill you without even trying! I can see what that skinny guy with a limp sees in you, you're one tough chick!"

She doesn't speak, merely stares blindly into emptiness, the milky glaze that mists over her emerald eyes betraying no emotion whatsoever. There's something about her ferocity that, despite myself, I feel attracted to: the smooth, girlish sweep of her cheeks sharply contrasted by her staunch, immobile nature. But even as I look at her, I realize what must be more important to me. I hate what I'm doing, I honestly do.

But I've starved for too long not to get mine while I can. No one, not this girl, nor anyone in the government she is working for ever tried to help me, even when I was homeless and destitute in the streets. The guilt, now worn and stale with age, begins to subside under the memories of the harsh way in which I was forced to live, and I turn away from her, not keen on allowing the guilt to resurface.

"Anyways," Singe drones, waving his hand lightly through the air, "Came down here to bring you up to the auditorium. Xu's brought like, the last fifty or sixty Family members left alive in the city, and he's about to give a speech. Wants you up there! So let's go!"

* * *

He stands before the platform like a statue of a hero, posed out epically before the willing crowd. Feet shuffle and voices murmur as he raises his hand to create silence, the room emanating a general fear and confusion over the way their lives have been turned around by the recent Family slaughters. I find it hard to look at any of these folks in the eye, knowing as I do the role that Xu and Singe played in these attacks.

The General's face is filled with prideful stoicism, the smile that was permanently emblazoned upon his face as though drawn there miraculously gone as his voice rings out with clarity and power.

"Friends and members of the Family!" he begins, gesturing in the air, "My name is Far Xu, and I am the High General of the Fire Nation Loyalist movement. I have come to speak to you today because of an awful injustice you have received: a burden that has been placed upon you that no man should have to live with. I speak of course, of the recent attacks upon both a safehouse and an office."

"It is true, that I am not a Family member as you are. I represent a different entity, but our entities are intertwined! I personally knew Todhe, your leader, and saw the visionary that lay within him. He brought you all together not with the thought of revolution, but with the intention of creating a better life for all of those snubbed by the current system! And he did so, you _all _did so, by scraping the excess wealth from the overstuffed bellies of the rich and in power, who _refused to help you!_"

"Despite of what you may think, we are brothers. Brothers of a Fire Nation that is a shell of what it once was. It is true that the previous regime was one of martial law and discipline, too predisposed towards conquest to consider the rights of its people, but at the very least, it wasn't pulled from whim to whim by greedy politicians! Our movement, the Loyalist movement, seeks to restore not the Empire, but the Fire Nation: a peaceful nation that has pride in the people it fathers!"

"But, despite all of these things, I am not here to attempt to recruit you. That is for each man to decide on his own. I am here to offer you an opportunity to _avenge_ the wrongs that have been thrust upon you! Todhe is dead, murdered by the current regime's Enforcers, sent in the dead of night to flout the law and the natural rights inherent in its citizens to serve the bulbous, hedonist Council and its wishes. Now, you are all hunted like animals, with no law or government to turn to. I offer you the opportunity to shed that fear, and become the citizens you deserve to be!"

"Brothers of a fallen nation, walk with me down this path, I beg of you. You have represented necessity in this country, been a part of a revolution that has taken the world by storm, refused to bow to laws that don't care for you just to die in a gutter! You have more dignity then that, more pride than that, and I know that you won't submit to their thuggish tactics without a fight! Let's give them one!"

The crowd roars in approval, the soldiers raising their weapons into the air and clattering them together. The sheer volume of the crowd's agreement reverberates violently in my eardrum, threatening to pop it as Xu allows a smile of satisfaction to spread to his lips. He turns for the podium, abandoning it without a word as he moves to great us, his footsteps and the clatter of his officious, garish armor being drowned by the excitement that echoes through the room.

"Nice speech, buddy!" Singe coos, the grin resonating across his face, "But do you really think that they'll all swallow that load of trash?"

Xu eyes us both, and I can see the cunning in his eyes even before he speaks. "Oh I don't doubt that some of them will see through it, but you have to remember that in their eyes, they're already dead men. The 'Enforcers' have been _very thorough_, so any opportunity to stop the attacks will be joined in a heartbeat."

He looks down at me, his dark, beady eyes searching up and down as though appraising me for something that I can't quite understand. Finally, he speaks again.

"You, boy, I must admit that you have a clever look about you," he begins, "And your work during the kidnapping was simply superb. So please, answer this question, as one of your experience must surely understand it better than most. What do you feel is the main reason that these people will join with us?"

A wave of sadness overtakes me, betraying my smile as I come upon the answer.

"Because you gave them a cause. They were just a bunch of thieves and beggars working together to stay alive as best they could, and you told them that they were actually working for a revolution, to make the world a better place. They'll grab a hold of it because it makes the guilt go away."

His permanent grin widens in slight approval as he rests a hand upon my small shoulders.

"Jiro," he says, using my name for the first time, "I feel that you may have a future within my army. Now we must go, and prepare for tomorrow morning."

* * *

Sokka of the Water Tribe:

My hands still shake with the frustration and the anger, despite my furtive efforts to calm them down. Each pulsation of my heart sends streams of pain into my broken hand and gashed stomach, but somehow, the pain seems far away: distant, unreachable. A sudden bout of rage rips through me again, flaring through my muscles, and my fist closes around the nearest wooden chair, tightening around the back as I stand and hurl the thing with all my strength against the hard stone wall. There is a very satisfying sharp crack that rips through the air as it shatters, splintered pieces of wood flying through the air as the rage temporarily subsides.

Toph's sick face suddenly reappears in the forefront of my memory: her rapid, heavy breathing, the flush of her cheeks, the look of pain stretched upon her face... All of these mix with the indelible fact that I failed her. Desperation swirls within me, mixing with a choked feeling of love, tainted by a poisonous fear of losing her. I'm so sorry, Toph. But I'm going to get you back, damn it!

My shaking hands scrape the shred of parchment from the ground, snapping it open in front of me as my eyes pour over the words once again.

_We have the girl. Meet us in the Sozin Memorial Courtyard at 8 o'clock in the morning, or we'll kill her. Bring a chest filled with no less and no more than 100,000 golden pieces, or we'll kill her. You may bring a squad of your Enforcers, but if any of the Fire Nation Guard is present, we'll kill her. Any deviance whatsoever, even if we only suspect it, and we'll kill her. Our goal isn't to harm her, but we will if you leave us no choice._

_The Family_

Moronic! They take me for an idiot, but I can see why, when I let the damn false doctors into the room and left them alone!

My instinct brought me to Lo Dai almost instantaneously. He could have slipped her a poison at any time, and, seeing as he runs the Corps of Doctors, he could have orchestrated the kidnapping. The only problem is, there's no way that the entirety of the Corps of Doctors is corrupt, and I've already heard police and guard reports circulating throughout the palace that the Corps of Doctors Office, one of the most guarded buildings in the Fire Nation, had supplies stolen from its stock room. If Lo Dai was involved, theft wouldn't have been required. But if that's the case, then how could Toph have been poisoned? There are a million different situations in which something noxious had been poured down her throat. All that the attackers _really_ would have had to do is find out about the request for a doctor, steal the uniform, and walk right through the gate. Though it may still be possible that Lo Dai is involved, and I'm certainly not about to trust him with any privy information, I can't point the finger at him with just this.

Of course, all this speculation is pointless right now, anyway. They apparently think I'm an idiot, that I can't see precisely what it is that they're going to do. All of the clues are written into the note: the time, place, Enforcers. But I'll show these bastards yet. Let's see them plan and scheme when I have time to outmaneuver them. I've got almost a full twenty four hours to set people up and prepare them with instructions. All I have to do is work.

The frustration dies down slightly as it finds a purpose, an outlet, and I walk to the doors of my room. I feel my hand jar in pain as the sling it is strung through accidentally rebounds against the hard, unforgiving wood, but I ignore it, gripping the cold metal handle in my unharmed right hand and clicking the knob down. As the door swings open, a stale stench invades my nostrils: the musty scent of the stagnant castle air, leaking through the open door. It tastes particularly foul as I exit, moving down the hall to find Mai and Ty Lee.

My footsteps echo loudly through the hallway as I push my injured body as fast as I can, reverberating noisily against the polished marble stone. My thoughts echo in the same way through my head, evaluating possible strategies and ideas to prepare. It is likely they have Toph restrained somehow, probably something made out of wood that prevents her hands and feet from touching the ground. That means that, if we manage to get her, we'll have to either carry her, restraints and all, or somehow cut her free from them. Either is possible, but both require a team that consists of several people, which, while it allows them to prepare for either, is more cumbersome.

A sudden transient echo of footsteps pulses through the air, catching my ears oddly and bringing me to a halt as I glance behind me. I begin to wonder slightly as I see the short, stocky figure of Councilman Wong approaching, flanked by four Fire Nation Guardsmen. Their armor glints lightly as it reflects against the polished marble, giving them a menacing air that triggers emotions of the past: running, fleeing, and fighting these types of guys. I wave at the Councilman, unable to bring up the energy it takes to smile, but he only scowls in return, the crinkled skin between his eyes drawing his eyebrows downward as his frown deepens.

"Councilman," I say, preparing to speak to him of the ransom note, "I have an emerge..."

"Sokka of the Water Tribe, Enforcer of the Fire Nation," Wong says loudly, speaking directly over me, "You are under arrest!"

My jaw drops open as I see the guards suddenly spring forward, planting their feet against the slick marble and leaping for me. I step to the side, tucking my injured arm protectively behind me as instinct takes over. Armor clatters deafeningly throughout the air as I draw my good fist underneath my armpit and swing it to meet the first man's approaching body. It catches him solidly underneath the jaw, snaking through the armored helmet and throwing him off balance. His knees buckle with the force as he goes down, my gaze suddenly alighting towards the other three, who have moved to surround me.

I glance back and forth, desperate to find a way out, but even as Councilman Wong speaks again, I realize that without the use of both arms, I have no choice.

"Sokka!" he shrieks, his jaw shaking with anger, "Stop this at once, or the charges against you will include resisting arrest!"

I freeze, eyeing him dangerously, searching his large, bug-like eyes for a weakness I can exploit to get out of this. As I hear the guardsmen approach, their armor slinking dangerously, I realize that I have no options, especially none that will be bloodless.

A huge sense of dread and desperation wash over me, sapping the strength from my muscles as I bring my good hand to my chest, clasping against the buckle of my sword-belt and unhooking it. The blade cries against the ground in protest, laying softly and uselessly upon the reflective floor as I raise my free hand.

The Guardsmen are busy at work almost instantaneously, tucking the hand behind my back and lashing it solidly. My eyes don't leave the Councilman as I speak, hoping against hope to instill a modicum of compassion within his bureaucratic heart.

"Councilman," I begin, "What are these charges against me? What could they possibly be?"

The desperation leaks through my voice, instilling it with a falsetto, shrieking quality as it leaves my throat and drifts through the air.

"Uncountable accounts of first degree murder!" he spits, baring his teeth at me, "I'm sure you already know this, but we discovered another horrendous butchering of suspected Family members in an office in the city, all except one killed by a _jian_!"

I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.

"But that's not all! We found a Fire Nation issued sword, of the type _only _available to you and your Enforcers next to the body of a civilian girl! And we have the reports dealing with your injuries, how you refused to speak of how you obtained them, and how you crawled to safety from an unknown location! I'm sure it's just a matter of time until we can obtain a time-of-death upon the Family office that corresponds nicely with your mysterious sword-fight!"

"Councilman, these charges are ridiculous!" I insist, practically screaming at him, "You have no evidence that isn't purely circumstantial! How can you justify doing this?"

He begins to speak again, but I don't give him the opportunity. "Listen to me, Councilman, please, I'm begging you. I have a ransom note in my pocket. Toph has been kidnapped. I have to be somewhere in twenty four hours or they'll kill her. Now I'm begging you, please, just give me those twenty four hours, _please!_"

I nod my head down towards my pocket, where the parchment has been stuffed deep down. He rolls his eyes as he approaches, jamming his hand roughly into my pocket and prying out the piece of paper. It crinkles noisily as he unfolds it and glances at the written ink before pocketing it and speaking again.

"Sokka, you are a suspect in perhaps the worst butchering the Fire Nation has ever seen," he seethes, speaking through his teeth, "I see no reason to believe you in anything at all at this time. For all I know, Toph fled of her own accord to avoid returning with her father to the Earth Kingdom, or perhaps to avoid these investigations. Your trial date is set for a week, and your bail is set at 500,000 gold pieces. If you can make bail, then you will have your twenty four hours, though you will not be given a weapon of any kind nor allowed out of the sight of appointed Fire Nation military personnel, but I will be frank and honest with you."

He leans down to me as he speaks these words, his eyes filled with malice as they meet my own.

"I don't doubt your guilt in this matter, Sokka, and I don't care even in the slightest if your story is true. You will learn that you cannot commit crimes of this nature with impunity within our Country, and I pray to the spirits that you will _not_ make bail."

I realize, as the lead weight drops into my stomach, that he will get his wish. I have no way whatsoever of making that kind of money for bail. I feel rough hands clench painfully against my arms as I am pulled forcibly into the dark, deep into the bowels of the castle.

And as the shadows of the windowless dungeon rain down upon me, sucking me up into their blackness, the totality of the Family's plan in this matter fully sinks down. As things stand now, I have no way out, and neither does Toph.

* * *

Zuko, the Former Prince:

The memories of pain stick deeply within my stomach, mixing with the current waves of violent stinging emanating from my cracked ribs and sending horrible pangs of nausea up and down my throat. I realized, even as I applied the balm to the enflamed, reddish skin of my burn and wrapped my chest up as best as I could, that without some key supplies, I wouldn't last long. My face is still puffed up from the fight with Sokka, the deep black bruise from my first attack upon the Family still screams every time I stand, and now, every time I take a step or breathe to harshly, my ribs violently protest, sending throbs of incredible hurt up and down my chest.

The first thing that I did was, miraculously, manage to pull myself back to my cave, where I tended to my wounds as best as I could. After sleeping for several hours and vomiting with the awful pain, I managed once again to pull myself upwards and leave the cave, where years of fighting out in the wilderness came to my rescue once again.

Somehow, I managed to stay awake as I rooted through the tufts of plants springing from the ground, my tunneled vision searching back and forth for a particular grouping of white flowers: small petals attached to a grouping of stick-like green stems. Even as I fell upon the incredibly common plant, forcing my hand into the earth and dragging it out, the sheer relief that I felt was almost enough to counteract the constant hurt.

I ground the flowers into a rough powder on the floor of my cave, which I mixed with some water to form a paste, and crammed the foul mixture into my mouth as fast as I could. I felt a dullness begin deep in my chest, spreading outwards and almost numbing my limbs in the process, covering the pain with a blanket of fuzziness that allowed the clarity to return to my mind.

Without pausing for a second, even as the night began to fall upon the world, I left the cave, wandering back down towards the city. The Corps of Doctors will treat me, and none of the wounds are suspicious enough to make them report me to the Guard. As far as they know, I am just a Fire Nation citizen with an odd burn scar upon my face. I'll be out of the city before anyone becomes the wiser, at least, I hope. I am without options at this point.

The going is treacherously slow, as I think before placing each foot down upon the ground, anxious to avoid worsening my ribs. My hands guide me as I push through, the full moon brightly lighting the forest even through the trees as I pick and choose my way down to the city lights, shining brightly in the silvery sheen of the moon.

This man, Singe, won't beat me. Next time, we'll fight on _my _terms, and I'll be damned if I'll let the psychopath get the best of me again. You just wait, you bastard. Your days are numbered.

* * *

Sokka of the Water Tribe:

The cell is impenetrable, at least for me at this point. No windows light the room: bleak solid stone, almost green in hue, kept bright only by the flickering crackle of the torches in the hall surrounds me. I tried digging into where the bars are ingrained into the stone, tried finagling the lock, tried to lure the guard close enough to steal the keys, but with absolutely no success. I sit upon the filthy cot, resting my head against the worn, rough stone, feeling it prickle uncomfortably through my hair. I let my neck go limp, the view of my blue Water Tribe clothes filling my vision. I look at the folds, seeing the patterns ripple across them, allowing memories of icy cold seawater flowing around a canoe to flow through my head.

A sudden, barking cry from the guard snaps me out of my revery, pulling my gaze from my clothes to the guard, rapping his spear harshly against the iron bars.

"You! Sokka! You've got a visitor!"

Confusion wraps around me as I stand, walking casually over to the bars and grabbing ahold of one with my good hand. The cold, metal texture rubs comfortably against my worn palm as I stare into the blackness, trying to see farther than the light of the torch allows. My surprise is total as I see the finery of the pure white and green robes, the gold medallion, the carefully stitched silver patterns, the pale white skin and dark hair, and I realize who this is.

"Mr. Bei Fong," I begin, my voice rife with the sarcasm that can only come from hopelessness, "What a pleasant surprise. Have you come for a nightly torture session?"

He stands against the wall, his arms folded, his posture perfect as he looks upon me. His green eyes are cast oddly in the flickering torchlight, shimmering wetly as the fierce red light glints within them. I can read the malice in his gaze, the barely controlled anger as he looks upon me, and I am not surprised as I hear it leak into his voice.

"Sokka," he begins, barely keeping the rage from his voice, "You are not one for silvered words, so I will level with you. I do not like you. I feel no sympathy for your predicament, and I would not be surprised if the allegations against you should prove to be true. I am here for one reason, and one reason alone. I want to find my daughter, and you will help me, or I can make your stay here very, very uncomfortable. Do you understand me?"

I laugh, the sound without mirth, carrying the frustration and rage I feel at my helplessness, not even sure if a smile has formed upon my face. His scowl deepens, the shadows cast by his wrinkled skin somehow appearing darker as I speak.

"You really think you can make my life worse at this point?" I ask, "Do you think that you wouldn't have my help in finding Toph? Listen to me, Mr. Bei Fong, as I tell you that your odd distrust of me may actually save her life."

His expression softens somewhat at the words, as I begin to explain the situation.

"I've been outmaneuvered... My own lack of foresight has pulled us into this mess," I admit, the desperation leaking into my voice as my eyes shift towards the ground, unable to meet his. "You know about the Family, you know how we've been fighting it. Aang, the Avatar, asked me and Toph to stay in the Fire Nation, to try and give this country some stability while he fought the Loyalist Army in the Earth Kingdom. The Family, the criminal organization, has provided major stops to electing a Fire Lord and bringing the economy of the country around, so Toph and I were made the heads of a special operations organization called the Enforcers. We'd had some great successes... until recently."

"It's to my everlasting shame, Mr. Bei Fong, that I only recently realized precisely what was going on. The Family was a surrogate. It's the Loyalists, it always has been, pulling the strings to get us to this point. They murdered someone close to the former Prince, Zuko, working through the Family and ripping his life away, counting on the fact that his emotions would push him towards revenge. Zuko unwittingly worked as a tool for them, breaking into a Family safehouse and slaughtering everyone inside, with swords so as not to be caught, yet unknowingly shifting the blame to me, and my Enforcers. I found him and tried to stop him... but he overpowered me, which is how I broke my hand and got this wound on my stomach. From there, the Loyalists must have moved fast, murdering another Family base in the city and planting evidence that would link me to the killings before Zuko could get there. I don't know if he's still alive, at this point, but even if he is, the Loyalists are almost surely trying to kill him, to prevent him from doing anything that could reveal them to the government or the people."

"Then... someone, somehow poisoned Toph. They did this for two reasons: one, to turn off her Earthbending, and two, to goad me, in my weakened state, to calling for a specialist from the Corps of Doctors. They stole the uniforms and walked through the palace, grabbing her and making off with her while she was defenseless, and they left me a note, telling me to be at the Sozin Memorial Courtyard at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. They... they want something specific. And they made sure that the evidence would be just enough to get me arrested, to prevent me from finding a way not to give it to them. But, I know all this probably doesn't mean much to you, except for the fact that you can post my bail so I can get your daughter back. You have the money, don't you? That's one of the reasons you're here, isn't it?"

I clasp my eyes firmly upon his, watching his scowl soften slightly, his own gaze falling towards the floor.

"I heard... rumors.. that you had insisted that she had been kidnapped," he admits, "And... as much as I find you to be lacking, in many areas... I have never been able to find myself disbelieving your attachment to my daughter, and I doubt seriously that you would lie about something this serious regarding her. What lengths would you go to, to see her safe?"

The tears of desperation finally worm their way out of my eyes at his confessions. Maybe the only redeeming quality I have, in the face of my glaring stupidity and lack of foresight, is the love I have for Toph. The tears stick wetly to my cheek, dribbling softly down my face and onto the floor as the words come out. Despite my efforts, I can't keep my weeping from working it's way into my voice.

"I would _die_ for her. I almost did once. Anything," I say, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat, "I know... I know you don't like me. I see now that you have reason to. But the one thing we share is how much we care about your daughter. I know... despite my dislike for _you_, that you would die for her as well."

He sighs, the sound long and drawn out, whispering from his throat as he speaks again.

"I can bail you out. But eight will be arriving in only three more hours. Do you have enough time?"

I smile through the tears, tasting the saltwater upon my tongue as they leak through my teeth.

"That's plenty," I say, my relief total, "considering my only option. If you could also manage to get Enforcers Mai and Ty Lee appointed as my designated guards, and tell them each to bring eight of their most trusted operatives, we will have enough time."

He nods resolutely, saying "Give me an hour, and it will be done."

The robe swirls through the air as he disappears, and I am left with only the noise of his falling footsteps as I begin to prepare myself for the morning that lies ahead.

* * *

"Sokka, you haven't told us the plan!"

I glance back at Ty Lee, offering a small smirk as I continue at my hurried pace through the streets. The morning sun pokes out between the buildings, bathing the city in a gilded light that, despite the situation, is achingly beautiful. I realize that eight is quickly approaching as flocks of citizens pace furiously through the streets, clutching satchels and hats, their minds busy with thoughts of the work day ahead.

"It's simpler that way," I respond, as I round a corner. The peaking rays of light catch upon the beautiful fountain in the center of the Sozin Memorial Courtyard, casting freckled beads of gold upon the bright cobblestone. The clomping feet of my Enforcers against the stone road offers a fast-paced rhythm that cuts through the singsong voices of birds carrying through the air and the hurried murmuring of commuters. Questioning eyes glance at us as the men move into formation, Mai and Ty Lee standing behind me, and we begin to wait.

"Sokka."

The voice is feminine, yet lower and more gravelly this time. Mai's.

"I don't know what you're planning here, or even what's going on. I have a feeling a big fight could be on our hands here, and I might just leave if you don't start informing me."

I see the Loyalists appear from the other side of the yard; old-styled breastplates and helmets of crimson armor flood through the streets, the armor rattling and whining as they set up in a box-like, standard attack formation about twenty-five yards away. People, who I can only assume to be Family members, stand stock still in the center of the formation, looking on with differing degrees of confusion and resolution. My heart catches in my throat as I see Toph, her pale white skin glowing in the morning light, the resolute stubbornness cast upon her face despite the awful conditions she had faced. She is incredibly beautiful. I feel a small bout of rage as I see the way they have her tied: odd wooden 'mittens' and 'boots' lashed to her feet, strung up by rope to a large frame wheeled upon a tiny cart.

And, as I see the face of the boy, the one that I almost recognized with the false doctor, the young Family kid that I let go all that time ago standing beside her, I feel an unquenchable wave of sadness that saps the life from me. It eats away at hope and love, bringing me down into a pool of desperation as I begin to answer Mai.

"Fine," I answer, "The plan is, we give them what they want. They want one thing, and it's the absolute only way to bring Toph back alive."

Mai scowls even deeper, her voice replacing the constant boredom with an air of worry that surprises me. "What do they want, Sokka?"

"These... are Loyalists, Mai," I answer, "And what they want is a revolution. They want a civil war. That's why we're here, in public, in the morning, when everyone is waking up and going to work. They're not going to ask for money, they're going to demand that I come forward and confess to the two Family house slaughters. Then, as all the people passing by hear the words being exchanged, and as they hear the apparently awful things that I, and therefore the Council, have done, people will flock to the Loyalist cause in order to de-throne the evil government that sneaks into homes in the middle of the night to execute those who speak against it. And when I confess, when they have finished vilifying me into a monster, they will let Toph go, to show that they are merciful, good people. They'll leave her lashed up, so that you will have to find a way to release her and she won't be able to attack them long enough for them to escape, but she'll be alive and well, and so will all of you."

"We can't-" she begins, but I cut her off.

"It's too late!" I tell her, practically hollering in a mix of my own fear and frustration, "If I don't go and confess, then it simply means to the passers-by that we are willing to sacrifice lives to avoid taking responsibility. If we try to attack them, and steal Toph away, then it simply shows that we are a violent government that will sacrifice lives to avoid taking responsibility. They get their revolution, no matter what happens, but the only way to get Toph out of here is to give it to them in the way that they want. Do you understand?"

She says nothing as silence descends upon the scene, excepting the small singing of birds in the background. All eyes in the courtyard are staring at the two forces, watching and wondering what is going on. The murmuring has dissipated into nothingness, and I can almost feel the held breath in the chests of the participants. A man steps forward from the Loyalist forces, a seemingly permanent smile stretched across his features, the incredible ornamentation that adorns his armor reflecting enough sunlight to nearly blind me. I eye the forces, seeing the soldiers and the Family men, the boy, Toph, and catching the image of the bespectacled man that I saw through the wreckage of the fire all those nights ago. The glasses are gone, and scars of past violence stretch horribly across his face, but he is unmistakably the same man, as evidenced by the psychopathic, childish grin that stretches across his face.

"I see that you brought no money!"

The voice comes from the man out front, the apparent General, who speaks loudly enough to address both us and the surrounding crowd. His voice rings with clarity, filled with heroic conviction as though leaving the throat of Good itself, and not a mere man.

"We both know that you aren't here for money," I holler back.

His smile, seemingly fastened in place by the muscles of his cheeks stretches slightly, as he addresses the crowd once more.

"_You_, Sokka of the Water Tribe, a _foreigner_, acting on the behalf of the current Fire Nation Government, have crimes that the country has failed to charge you for! You stand before us, a free man, yet _you_ are responsible for murdering over forty-five of its citizens in cold blood! The world knows your guilt, as you have made no effort even to hide it, so confident are you in the corruption of your Council, but we are here today to show you that _we will not tolerate such behavior on behalf of the government! _If you want your murdering Enforcer friend back, then you must come before us today, and come before the crowd that surrounds us, and admit to your crimes! Admit, repent, and accept your punishment!"

"_Don't do it, Sokka!_" The voice is Toph's ringing through the air, and even though it is gritty and worn with desperation and fear, I hear her soul carried through the air, sparking all the love that I have for her. It builds a rising warmth in my throat that reaches into my chest, filling me with a feeling of peace and happiness as I realize that she will live beyond this day. It may be hard, but she'll find happiness again. Her smile, her pure goodness, her incredible toughness, will continue to bless the world, and for a price so insignificant, so small.

"_I'll never forgive you, Sokka, if you do what they ask!_" she screams, "_To hell with them!"_

I take a deep breath, the warmth within me so violent, so energetic, that it infuses quavers within my voice.

"I love you, too, Toph," I shout, just loud enough for her to hear. A smile crosses my lips as I see the sun glint against her cheek, catching against the tears that are falling down. I love you. I always have, and I always will.

Ty Lee speaks again from behind me.

"Sokka, you can't go over there! They'll kill you! You're a dead man if you do this!"

I smile, sadly, locking eyes with her.

"We're all dead men."

I take a step forward.

* * *

**A/N:** Well there it is! The epically depressing chapter 11! I hope that it lived up to y'alls expectations! Hahahahah once again, you all impressed me with your intelligence, as absolutely no one believed for a millisecond that the note was asking for a ransom! Thats one of the reasons it was so fun to put a fake ransom in there, because you already know it's a goose-chase!

I love the speculation that I've been getting, really I do, and it's fun to see how its similar and different from what I have planned for the story. I'm absolutely dying to see what you thought of the twists in this chapter, of the Loyalists' true plot, and, most of all, of the writing of the last couple scenes! I tried really hard not to get too heavy-handed with the imagery, but it's just such an epic sacrifice on the part of Sokka that I couldn't tone it down very much. Was it too much? Not enough? Whaddya think?

Like I said above, two more chapters remain in this story. Next week will be the climax, too, so be prepared for crazy twists and riddles and lots and lots of action! Will Sokka go through with his sacrifice? Is there any way out for him? Find out next week!

Keep reading!

Superbleh11


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Well, here it is! The climax, and second to last chapter of Redemption! I hope you all enjoy, but before you begin, I have a major apology to extend to the three of you that reviewed the last chapter! It's no secret to those of you who have left reviews that I make it a point to reply to each and every one that I get to express my gratitude, but for whatever reason, every time I have tried to both review-reply and send out a PM, Windows has been giving me an error message and shutting down Internet Explorer. I have no idea why (though if some of you are more technically capable then I am, I would love to hear your opinions on the subject), but I feel terrible about having submitted no replies to your outstanding reviews of the last chapter. So, I'll leave little abridged ones here!

To Bluetiger: Your review was as insightful and well-thought-out as ever, and though it serves no point to discuss the validity of your speculation (since it's all about to be answered right here, haha) thanks a lot for posting the review, and thanks a lot for the awesome compliments you left! I worked really really hard on the last chapter, and I'm thrilled it went over so well for you!

To Leaving-My-Mark: as has been the way with all your reviews, your perception of the situation as it stands is utterly flawless! I really appreciate your validation of my hard-work, and I'm glad that my taking on the characters has been so in-sync with the show for you! I sure hope that this chapter continues to do so!

To Sifu-Toph: Oh, wow... Haha I don't think I've ever been left a compliment that touching before! I am incredibly moved that my story managed to inspire you in your writing! I would absolutely love it if you would tell me which story it is, so that I could read it!

**Anyways, **I'm also sorry that this chapter took so long, but it was a very potent chapter for me to write, and I struggled with how I wanted to convey a lot of it. I didn't want to post something that I wasn't completely happy with, so here it is! The big climax of Redemption! I hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing that could get me pulled into court!

* * *

Jiro, the Mouse:

I watch, my mouth agape, as the man walks towards us. Even though his compatriots stands twenty-five yards away, I can see the protests written into their eyes; the shorter one reaches forward as if to catch his shoulder as he moves to his certain death.

"_No!_"

The screams come from beside me, reverberating through my skull with the force and power of fear and grief. Unable to avoid it, I glance beside me, watching her face as her glazed eyes stare unseeingly. Tears stream down her pale, smooth cheeks, glistening brightly in the golden morning sun. Her chest heaves up and down as she builds the strength to scream again; the lashes and ropes crinkle violently as she struggles futilely against them, throwing her weight forwards and backwards. There's a prayer for freedom held in her, leaking a spiritual cry for help that I can feel deep in the center of my chest.

The ferocity of the man's gaze: the incredible oceanic determination that he holds as he walks forward is incredible, awe-inspiring, unmanning. Powerful emotions swirl within my gut, unnameable in their multitude and their potency, nearly ripping the strength from my limbs as I struggle to stand.

Xu summons a guard to stand before him. The blue-eyed warrior kneels.

"You know what you must say," Xu whispers, the sound only just reaching my ears, "Diverge from it, or make it unconvincing, and I _will _kill her."

He swallows.

"My name is Sokka, from the Southern Water Tribe," he begins, closing his eyes. Silence suddenly captures the courtyard, as even the singsong bleating of birds seems to dissipate in the awe of the incredible moment. "I... I have done terrible things for the Council. In the dead of night, I butchered unprepared and barely armed men in their homes. I did this because I wasn't capable of fighting the Family on fair terms. I flouted both lawful and human rights, murdering any that I suspected of even having any connection with the Family..."

"_It's a lie! Stop it! Run, run for your life! Please!_"

I can't hear anymore. The words drown out into nothingness amidst a curious roaring in my ears. My stomach tosses and turns, my head is on fire, my muscles tremble and shake with conflict, yet suddenly, my mind becomes clear.

For the first time, the world makes itself known to me, and I understand.

The blue-eyed warrior seems oddly distant amidst the shimmer of steel bathed in the gilded morning. Even though I am beyond hearing, beyond capable of understanding what he is saying, I see his life written into his face, and I am able to fathom what he is.

No one helps him. They stand, watching in awe as he not only sacrifices his life, but his name, condemning himself to vilification in the unforgiving eyes of history. The girl he loves struggles against her bonds, willing herself free, praying to prevent him from doing what he is about to.

And that, is heroism. Sacrifice. His life will end, his name spat upon forever, but he will not compromise his love for the girl. He does this because it is good, because it will save the life of someone pure.

I clench my eyes shut as tightly as I can, trying to force the memory of my failure from my eyes. She pleaded with me to do the same, but I am not a hero. I am a coward, a fool who hid behind the threats of others to protect myself from understanding my own failings. Memories of the past week stream through my head, pictures, places, people, and I realize that in not a single one of them, have I been truly alive.

He kneels before an uncaring crowd as Xu conjures words of silver and gold that poisons the minds around us. I see hatred written into their faces as they copy what I've done. I see the essences of them, pointing fingers at the Water Tribe hero, suddenly able to locate a source, whether real or imagined, that they can blame for their poverty. Stress and fear transform into hate and contempt, and they bathe him in it.

But he doesn't flinch.

Tears dribble down my face, splashing wetly upon the ground before me. The conflicting emotions suddenly merge, flowing into each other and becoming something clear, and tangible. Regret washes over me, shame rips through my veins, but before me lies opportunity.

I ease behind the cart, glancing furtively at the eyes focused firmly upon the kneeling warrior. Even as I slip from behind the crowd, easing between heavy iron breastplates and flimsy clothes bearing the Black Hand of the Family, I see no opposition. The knife appears in my hands, glinting as the sun's rays kiss it, slipping nicely back into my sleeve as I silently disappear behind the girl's prone figure.

A barrage of knots accost my vision; leather banded into leather, tightly bound and hooked. I stare into the sea of brown, searching my memory, struggling to remember how I watched the soldiers lash her to the odd cart. My eyes appraise the thick straps of leather that loop between the wooden splints, following them as they meet the knots twisted behind her back.

If what they told me is right, she gets around her blindness by "feeling" the vibrations that pulse through the ground through her feet. So freeing her isn't enough, if we're to escape unharmed; I have to get the wooden splints off of her as well. I remember the soldier who bound her, hand and foot, pointing out a 'failsafe' knot, that if sawed apart, would simultaneously free her from both the cart and the wooden splints lashed to her hands and feet.

Fear begins to return to me, as I realize what I am about to do. Even if this works, and she is freed and can get us to the Enforcers on the other side of the Courtyard, she'll only have a fraction of a second with which to feel out the scene and guide us. I can only pray that she is as good of an Earthbender as the Loyalists feared she was.

The fear begins to turn to panic, clogging my throat and making it impossible to breathe. I nearly choke as I try to push through it, the glimmers of tears forming in the corners of my eye, but I manage to push it into my chest, where I can hold it and manage it. I force my arm forward, almost against my own will, pressing the blade of the knife into a strand of corded leather. I can feel the grittiness of my teeth as they clench and slide against each other, my head pounds, my palms sweat.

I begin to saw.

The lashings emit a lethal whisper that floats through the air, deafeningly loud to my terrified ears. I glance forward and around me, watching the faces of the soldiers, catching nothing but the glint of metal and hair as their focus is drawn totally upon the scene before them. The blue-eyed warrior continues to speak, but I can tell from the desperation of the girl's cries before me that I don't have much longer.

The first length of leather snaps, and floats dreamily to the ground.

She suddenly stiffens, the previously violent rocking motion of the cart dissipating into blaring sudden nothingness. My heart stops as I wait for someone to turn around, jostling the girl roughly in an attempt to replace the sudden lack of noise.

"Keep struggling!" I breathe, the words seething through my teeth, "You're almost free. We can save his life."

She nods, almost imperceptibly, but to my paranoia-heightened senses, she may as well be throwing her head up and down. The struggling she makes is more rhythmic now, the crackling of the rope bleating out an odd beat that I saw to. She screams for good measure, but the passion is gone from her voice, just the falsetto whine of a crying girl. I pray that the noise sounds enough like defeat to keep the ordered soldiers in formation.

I watch the split in the thick leather binding grow in length, the excess tendrils of brown, craggy material folding over on itself as I press the knife as hard as I can into the binding. My thumb, pressing upon the dull edge of the blade, screams out in pain as it sinks deeper and deeper, slowly, inexorably moving through the length.

Suddenly, almost without warning, it falls free, and everything happens at once.

There is a thunderous clatter of wood, metal, and stone as the girl drops out of the cart to the ground. The noise spreads throughout the crowd, stopping words in the throats of the onlookers and in the blue-eyed warrior as the girl steps out of the wooden bindings. Her hand wraps around mine.

"Hold on!" she says.I do as she asks, squeezing her hand as she pulls me forward. Panic transcends into terror as I hear the clatter of armor and a high-pitched shriek on the part of Xu as weapons are gripped and readied. I see the storm of faces, the flood of armored men pushing towards us, but even as I prepare to run, I feel the road squirm and writhe underneath me. It becomes alive, gripping me in a shockingly warm embrace of wet earth and cobblestone as it swirls around the form of the girl and rockets us forward. An incredible gritty roar of earthen fury drowns out the cries and noise that flows around us; I grip her hand more tightly, clinging for dear life as we are slung across the scene.

My eyes suddenly grab a hold of the blue-eyed warrior, still miraculously on his knees. He feels so far away, yet what I see him do seems to go in slow motion. I see the grimace of the soldier standing over him as he levels his spear. I see the hero throw himself to the side, rolling to his feet as the point misses him and scrapes against the ground. I see a violent glint of steel as a knife emerges from the warrior's boot, appearing in his hand. I see the streak of crimson spray across the ground as he flies to his feet and jams it point-first into the exposed throat of the soldier. And then, we are there, and he grabs my outstretched hand.

Somehow, the warrior manages to pry himself his feet, despite a heavily bandaged left hand trailing behind him, using the momentum of the curve to regain his feet. I mirror the movement, standing beside him on a thundering platform of road as it slings around and makes for the Enforcers' side of the Courtyard.

A sudden glimmer of teeth sprays across my vision, ripping my gaze away from the warrior and towards the crowd of soldiers who fly after us. Singe's face catches my eye, and I see that the glimmer of teeth comes not from a smile, so predictably written across his features, but a scowl of pure hate and malice, the jaws clenched together, the eyebrows furrowed. It looks freakish and demonic against his bleary swollen features, and as a small blade of steel appears in his hand, I know what is to happen before it does.

"_I don't understand!_" he screams, and the blade disappears into the air.

I stand in front of the girl, struggling to push the blue-eyed warrior out of the way, but my weak, scrawny body only manages to cover him somewhat as the explosive throwing dagger approaches. My gaze is suddenly filled with blue sky, hovering incredibly over the image of the girl Earthbending. Her clothes flutter violently in the wind, swirling behind her as dust plumes dance to an unknown rhythm at her side. She is beautiful.

I hear a violent crack behind me, and all I am is pain. Awful stinging and burning wells up in the small of my back, in my shoulder, in my left arm, in the base of my knee, in the back of my right hand: a wet, violent flame burns through my veins. My arms and hands suddenly feel heavy and fuzzy, the odd feeling of pins and needles lightly pressing against my skin stretching up and down their length, and I realize that I can no longer close my fist around the hand of the Earthbending girl.

I watch her and the warrior disappear into the crowd of Enforcers, the beautiful blue sky and gilded morning sun reaching gently over the warm brown skyline of the city. My home peaks out at me as I fall against the cobblestone pavement, the ground no longer warm and alive, but cold and dead. A smile of accomplishment floats to my face as I look back at what I came from, see the furious eyes of my former comrades, the hurried form of Xu as he disappears into an alley at the edge of the Courtyard.

Singe's horrible, demonic grimace seems to leer over me as he escorts Xu out of the Courtyard. His eyes are dead, no longer filled with childish malice or the need for violence, the amber irises glittering dully and thickly against the harsh light. His hair flows violently in the wind, and I see his mouth move, reading the words in my head as I lay back and bask in the sunshine.

"I don't understand..."

* * *

Toph Bei Fong:

The world feels so intensely vivid, so bright and alive under the sudden emergence of deafening vibrations that I have trouble concentrating. Over a day of sensory deprivation has left my feet feeling muddled and weak, yet I can feel the pulsations of the world in my teeth, face and hands, barely keeping my perception afloat.

I feel the pop of the exploding dagger deep within my ears, rebounding through my skull and threatening to overwhelm me. What is worse is that I can feel the embedded shrapnel in the body of my savior, feel the sudden weakness of his heart as he lightly floats from behind me as though upon a cloud, resting easily against the earthen pavement. I grit my teeth, clenching inwardly against the sudden mix of desperation, anger, and relief as I wheel myself and Sokka around to the front lines of our Enforcers. The boy's heart beats slowly, but rhythmically; alone in the middle of the courtyard, resting easily between two opposing forces with violent intent.

I struggle to find words, the sudden weight of my Earthbending feeling crushing as I manage to wrestle the ground in front of me, allowing the ruptured earth to flow back into itself as it rests both me and Sokka easily against the ground. I manage to hear his footsteps pulse against the ground as he limps off of the residual gritty dirt and stone, springing forward in his awkward way as he screams at our Enforcers.

"_Go! Save him! Charge!_"

Then, the world is awash with vibration: feet pound against the ground, steely armor clangs noisily against itself, weapons arc and bend through the air as they are swung about, voices of victory and pain herald over the din. The courtyard becomes so achingly clear: so bright and alive, that I wish I could dim my senses to match my recent relief.

I want to stop. I want to fall down to my knees and thank the Spirits for Sokka's safety, for the chance we've been given back. I want to take the time to allow the tears to fall down my face, to allow the bright warmth of the sun to soak into my skin, to allow the beautiful embrace of the deep, refreshingly cold earth to clutch me to its chest.

But I won't.

Instead, the bed of Earth becomes a weapon, the silent sentience of the element vibrant with my intentions, nodding in quiet acquiescence as I use my tiny, frail body to coax the power into the world. A surge of elation cruises through my stomach as the solid cobblestone underneath suddenly wriggles and squirms into life, stretching and pulsing as I shift my feet against the cloudy ground.

Then, I move.

A melee of chaos and violence erupts in the center of the Courtyard, surrounding the fragile image of the wounded boy, wrapped tightly around himself. Oddly, his heartbeat does not quicken, pulsing not with fear but with an odd form of contentment, and I fear for him. I let the Earth bend and squirm into a violent wave, hurling me towards the action as I grit my teeth and clench my tired muscles in preparation.

A sudden stab of relief and love strengthens within me as I feel the injured form of Sokka slam his wounded shoulder into a crowd of Loyalists, bowling them over as he reaches the boy, sprawled out amidst the rippling death. His body screams in pain, but he reaches forward, scooping the skinny, frail boy into his arms and pushing out of the deadly brawl.

I arc into the air, elated at having the chance as I push my foot forward, letting the momentum whirl me into the Otter stance. The lithe agility it offers provides precision and simplicity; chunks of stone and earth erupt from the living ground into my control as I shift my weight, tracing my shoulders back and stretching my arm forward. I can feel the hatred and confusion rippling through the Earth from the heartbeats of the Loyalists; the intensity of their rage guides my hands and guides the death that comes from them.

The screaming and crackling of human flesh is punctured briefly by the sharp, meaty thud of rock slamming into armor. There are no screams of pain, no death throws as the man-sized boulders rip into them, warping their hardened steel armor and shattering the structured flesh beneath it. Three men collapse as the Otter stretches her claws into them, shearing a hole into the semi-formed lines of battle; Loyalists throw themselves away from the sudden carnage, fleeing deeper into the courtyard as they attempt to form defensive lines.

They have us outnumbered. I can feel that, and I know that our eighteen Enforcers statistically shouldn't have any chance against the remaining thirty or so Loyalists, but I don't care. I'll crush as many of them as are willing to fight, and let Sokka tell me when we should retreat and how I should attack.

The air is suddenly crackling with fire and heat as both the Loyalists and the Enforcers fill the air with their bending. Mai and Ty Lee form up behind a four-man squad of Firebenders, shouting orders over the din of flame as they push forward, struggling to get the human-weapons closer to the scattered Loyalists. The enemy's lack of order and discipline suddenly takes a toll on them as they lose their advantage of numbers, frail and prone in their half-formed groups.

My perception suddenly grabs a hold of two forms silently disappearing into back alleys. I recognize the conniving heartbeat of the man who spoke to Sokka mixed with the more erratic heartbeat of the knife thrower. Their cowardice sends ripples of rage through my stomach, my muscles clenching and unclenching as they attempt to dissipate the energy, but as I begin to move, ready to bring the Earth to life around them, a sudden din to my left rips my attention back to the present.

I hear the crackle of the flame before I feel it, and I throw myself backwards in anticipation as the heat touches my face, coaxing beads of sweat from my skin as I slide backwards. My left foot catches me as I whirl around, feeling the shouts and footsteps of four charging Loyalists clatter through my feet and into my chest. Otter slips into Lotus as I allow more increments of power to sneak into my veins; I lose some accuracy and precision this way, but I get a lot more bang for my buck, and as the anger pumps through my veins, that's what I want.

All it takes is my foot scraping lightly against the ground for flecks of pebbles and grit to become lethal, skittering furiously across the ground and peppering the first charging Loyalist with a series of violent pops. His armor cracks and snaps, and his heartbeat deadens and sputters into nothingness as the flecks of debris rip through him, pulling all the feeling from his limbs as he collapses haphazardly to the ground.

The remaining three almost simultaneously unleash a barrage of flame, tracing their hands through the air as the fire that rips through their hearts sprays from their open palms. Flame ripples through the air, and though I can't feel where it is, I know where the Firebenders are aiming, which is all I need.

The Earth saves me, firmly grasping my feet and wrenching me upwards. It floats me gracefully through the air, tossing me around the lethal bursts of heat and back into the safety of the ground. They wheel themselves around to counter my movement, but even as the thoughts of where to aim are slipping into their heads, the Lotus is ripping chunks of vicious Earth from the living road and cascading it downwards. The movement starts deep in my calves as I pull myself upwards, stretching my arms into the air as my tiny momentum warps and controls the whirling rock. A monstrous claw shreds the ground underneath the prone benders, reaching out of the abyss and tearing into them. As it closes, it disintegrates into a vicious rain of death and violence. They don't even have time to scream as the hail rips into them, the weight of the clattering road dragging them inexorably downward until they are buried beneath the shale remains of the breath of the Earth.

I sneer away any sense of pity that flares in my chest, devoid of it since I heard Sokka confess to things he hadn't done. But then, a presence pops up in my senses, deep and reticent, yet oddly close by. Amidst the streaks of heat bathing the Courtyard, blossoming against the ground, a particular series of blasts feels... different. It's more refined, condensed; the fire exudes control, the heat held deeply inside and only let through with the expressly taciturn motions of the wielder. And as I trace the blasts back to their origin, a quickened heartbeat rife with pain and turmoil greets me, pumping blood through countless wounds as he somehow manages to Firebend into ranks of Loyalists.

My jaw drops in shock as realization strikes me. It's Zuko!

The battle has begun to wane, the scattered Loyalists fleeing into the streets as littered corpses choke the ground, but a fresh fury pumps through my veins. I make my way towards him, struggling through a suddenly muddy Earthbending sense as he turns to snake his way back through the crowd. All this is _his _fault! _His _blind rage nearly killed Sokka! Focus drives me, pressing my aching feet against the gritty cobblestone as I make my way around the surviving Enforcers and fleeing passers-by to get to him.

But a weak flutter stops me dead, even as his form stretches further and further away. It starts from by the fountain in the East end of the Courtyard; a small, almost insignificant vibration amidst the violent swell of post-battle heartbeats and flight, softly tracing its mark into the ground despite the way in which it slowly drowns.

I feel Sokka kneel down beside it, cradling the source in his good arm as he gazes into its eyes.

My feet stop, almost of their own accord, the cooled rage dripping from me as an odd emotion I cannot define bathes my chest as though it were cold, refreshing water.

* * *

Sokka, of the Water Tribe:

He seems so frail, so thin and weak that I struggle to believe that he was ever capable of supporting himself upright to walk. Amber eyes, glistening with an odd combination of sadness and happiness pierce my own, reaching deeply within my soul as my hand snakes behind his filthy, matted hair to hold his head up. He smiles at me, the muscles of his face shaking with effort as it appears. He isn't a day older than I was when I met Aang for the first time.

"You... you're alive!" he says, the voice filled with youthful clarity as the smile begins to fade, "Thank... thank the spirits. You..."

"Shh," I say softly, kneeling beside him as I prop him up against the fountain, "Don't talk. Save your strength. You have to make it, kid!"

He laughs, the sound choked and wet as it sputters from his lips. As his chest convulses with the effort, I see a small stream of blood leaking from his back, far darker than the pools that leak around him. As I see my reflection in it's deep blackness, the awful comprehension reaches into my stomach. His liver has been pierced. There's no saving him.

"I'm... am... I gonna... make it?" he asks, the smile still written upon his taunt, smooth skin, defying the glimmering sadness that paints his eyes. The words are choked as he speaks around the wound, holding the blood that swirls in his lungs and stomach beneath his esophagus with all the might he can summon.

Tears spring to my eyes, hot and wet as they flow freely down my cheeks. Despite how hard I try, I can't stop it, and as I silently weep over the body of the dying boy, my chest convulses in pain. He watches me, and sympathetic tears glisten in his eyes. The sun pokes through the water of the fountain, sending sparkling freckles of light that catch and dance within the wet sparks of his irises. He looks like a painting: years and years of expression painstakingly brought to life on canvas, reflecting the pride in humanity of the artist.

"I'll burn then...." he says sadly, the sad smile still there, "The Spirits... they don't take kindly to... to cowards... like me."

My voice is choked and strained with sobs as I clutch the boy tightly to my chest. I hold him closely as the words pour out of me.

"Oh... oh _kid_, how can you say that?" I demand, wet droplets of saltwater dripping onto his chest, "You're a _hero!_ Worthy of the _Avatar's_ place! You... oh, kid, you did something amazing. I swear... I swear on my life, I'll tell the world your name and the incredible thing you did today! You're a _hero!_ A _hero!_"

He weeps freely now, reaching forward and grabbing a hold of my arm. His fingers dig in, surprisingly strong as the blood begins to blossom from his mouth, splattering across his face as death begins to clasp it's icy fingers around him. He struggles to force it down, choking wetly as he forces words from his mouth.

"Tell him... tell him I'm sorry!" he demands, his eyes glistening with desperation, "Tell him... I didn't want to! That... that I... that they... I didn't... I wanted to save..... her...."

But no other words come out. There is only a last burst of warm air from his throat, as his lungs allow their last breath to escape into the air and his life leaves him.

There is nothing else, only a blur of an intangible world, far away as I pull myself to my feet. My sight is filled with a haze of white light, impossible to perceive even as I see the image of Toph appear in the alley across from me. Somehow, though I don't remember walking or seeing her walk towards me, she comes forward and wraps her small arms around me. Her head rests softly against my chest as she holds me as tightly as her muscles will allow. The warmth of her living, breathing body cradles and rocks me lightly, filling me with the perception of my own heartbeat, my own pulsing lungs, the life that my body contains.

I stare blankly into the sky, and, as if in a dream, Appa floats overhead. His fur ripples in the wind, his massive paws gripping onto nothing as he soars by.

I feel a hot wetness through my filthy shirt as Toph can no longer hold back the tears. Her soft crying soaks into my chest and touches my heart, and my own tears find fresh life as I bury my face in her hair, clutching her as firmly as I am able. We harbor no shame for our tears, not even an awareness of our surroundings as we hold onto each other for dear life.

We weep out of relief, out of the sheer happiness we feel that somehow, despite all the odds against us, we are both here at this moment to hold each other. We weep out of confusion, the gripping events of the past week swirling around us, choking in their claustrophobic intensity. We weep out of sadness, memories of the torn friendships and battered relationships forming fresh wounds upon our hearts. But most of all, I think, we weep for the young kid, who died to keep us alive.

Unintelligible prayers of raw emotion pour from me to the Spirits, the boy's face fresh upon all of them. Young boy, nameless though you are, you are a hero, in every definition of the word, and I will keep the promise that I made to you.

* * *

**A/N:** Welp, there it is, the end of Chapter 12 and the end of Jiro the Mouse. I guess here is a really good spot to discuss that character a bit...

Jiro the Mouse is the first original character I ever wrote who wasn't a straight-up villain. I wanted to write him as a very sympathetic character, but not one so sympathetic that you could completely condone his actions, so that I could fully bring the reality of his own personal Redemption into more of a powerful moment. It was a pleasure writing him, as he was much more powerless than most of the other characters, and thereby had a much different perspective on things, but most of all, I wanted to show that even in the most humble of people, as powerless and occasionally cowardly as the poor Mouse, lies the chance of incredible heroism. I sure hope that I conveyed that, and I'm dying to know what you think!

One chapter remains in the story. Up next week, the Resolution, and I hope that it lives up to y'all's expectations! So, as always, keep reading (and if you're feeling kindly, leave a review)!

Superbleh11


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **Here it is, the final chapter of Redemption! I'm sorry that it took so long to complete, but I hope it lives up to the expectations of everybody! All you who reviewed gave wonderful support throughout this fic, and I'm beyond thrilled that you all enjoyed the story enough to stick with it! Thank you so much!

**Disclaimer: **I OWN NOTHING!!!!!

* * *

Zuko, the Former Prince:

Even as I saw her unfocused, glazed eyes bleakly glaring their rage out into nothingness, I realized that she "saw" me, and was coming after me. The pain had begun to run blood through my bandages, the sweat dripping liquid salt into the wounds, and I knew that my strength would fail me before I was capable of fighting her off. So I disappeared, out into the crowd, praying that there would be something to pull her off of my scent.

Apparently, it worked, as I have worked my way into the throng of humanity flooding the streets, desperately fleeing the violence in the Sozin Memorial Courtyard. Tides of sweaty meat pound against me, the musky stench of fear is acrid and cloying in the air, but I managed to keep my head down and keep moving, despite the terrible sparked back into life with each careless brush into my body. The crushing waves of flesh and cloth press me back and forwards; the loud, feverish murmur of the fearful people sprays steamy air that makes the streets hot and humid.

I can feel my body protest the movement, feel the fresh doctor's bandages stretching and straining with effort as I try to remain upright, but even as I manage to keep my head above the crush, I realize that I'm not going to be able to hold off much longer. My shoulders begin to shake with effort, the pain slowly numbing into exhaustion as I force my stretched and tortured muscles into more and more action.

My vision tunnels, the peripheral views dimming and becoming fuzzy as I focus ahead of me, and I know I don't have long. The violent murmur of the crowd begins to froth and boil until it turns into a dull roar that deafens me, nearly bringing me to my knees as they start to tremble.

There is a sudden blast of pain from behind me as a large, running object slams forcibly into my back. The colors of the world around me blur into a fuzzy, indistinguishable mess as I am launched forwards to my knees. I have no senses except for touch as I feel the hard, gritty ground pressing harshly into my legs and hands, errant pebbles and gravel digging furiously into my skin as I scramble to get away.

I'm not sure how I do it, as the deafening roar of the crowd mixed with the spotty, rainbowish blur of my vision has cast my mind far away from the scene at hand, but amidst the total chaos, I manage to fumble my way into an alleyway.

A cold, metallic waste bin, upturned onto its side is the first thing I notice as my senses begin to return. The bracing, frigid aluminum sends a shiver of cold up and down the back of my neck as I lean against it; I feel the shiver out, feel it working it's way through my system until the cold touches the tips of my fingers and toes, and my vision starts to clear.

Dull, gray stone with a slightly beige tinge to it floods my vision as I crane my neck upwards. I don't know how long I've been sitting up, staring outwards, but I realize with a start that the harsh roar has melted into nothingness, punctured only by the occasional chaotic twitter of a bird or the occasional straggling runner's voice. I groan forcibly as I push myself to my feet, the trash can's violent clanging sending equally violent tremors of pain through my skull. My leaden legs protest mightily, but I manage to force my way up to my feet, leaning heavily against the alley wall as my mind begins to come back to work.

Then, I hear voices. Crisp and cool, but decidedly panicked. Some latent instinct, deeply reticent within my head makes me flatten myself against the wall as the dull, unreadable fuzz of the voices slowly becomes strikingly clear.

The first thing that I notice is the slight metallic crunch of armor as the men walk, and panic begins to set into my chest as I pray they don't notice me. My breathing comes in deep, throaty gusts as my diaphragm heaves back and forth, sending bursts of steam into the air. In this state, I've got no chance. I'm not even sure I could summon any fire from my veins at this point.

"Damn it, they split us up before we could breathe! We didn't have a second to regroup!"

"It happened so fast... Everything was working, then she was free..."

Memories flash of the kid who sawed open Toph's leather restraints. Watching him sacrifice his life to save hers gave me that flicker of inspiration to jump into the fray. In retrospect, it was a stupid move, as it left me open to be found by Toph and further weakened my already tattered body, but it was a heroic moment nonetheless, and the boy should be recognized for it.

"That bastard kid, I knew we shouldn't have brought him along! I didn't trust him, or that other one, the one with the pulped face. Creepy bastard, now look what's happened! We have to find a way out of the city to regroup. We got no time. If we're found, we're dead."

"They ain't after us, not right now anyway. Too much clean up in the square. They routed us alright, but we hit them back pretty hard. Spirits, though, who could have predicted? That Jiro, of all people, the little Mouse would have had the guts to cut her free. He was a dead man the moment he pulled out his knife."

My eyes widen, my pulse quickens palpably in my wrists and throat as the name rips at my heartstrings. Jiro the Mouse. The Enemy. The one whose actions pushed me down this road. How can he be dead?

How can he be a hero?

The question claws violently at my mind, bringing my hands subconsciously into my forehead as I slide down to the ground. The rough wall of the alley scrapes painfully against my broken ribs, but my mind is suddenly far away from my own pain and hurts to realize it.

This kid pulled a knife on a defenseless, prone young girl. He stabbed her in the heart, and killed her. She died because of his actions, his evil precipitated _everything!_

This kid cut Toph free and died saving both her and Sokka's life. He may have single-handedly saved the entire Fire Nation by cutting Xu's speech and plan in half.

These two kids are one in the same.

The headache that has begun to make itself known begins to throb painfully, sending throbbing tendrils deep within my skull as I try to wrap my head around the idea. My knuckles whiten as my fingers dig into my scalp, pressing into the temples and in between the wrinkles of the forehead as the foreign idea begins to shiver and ache.

This boy found... Redemption. At some point, he recognized the evil of what he had done, and repented. It's the only explanation; otherwise, he wouldn't have died for Toph and Sokka. But if someone like him could find redemption, had the capacity for good within him... then what have I been doing?

My eyes suddenly open and my chin droops down, filling my vision with images of my tattered body. Thick, greasy splotches of red ooze through fresh bandages, staining them and mingling with the dust and grime that has splattered atop them. My clothes are worn and wrinkled, clinging to me by threadbare strands of fabric. I realize that I must smell terribly, though I am too accustomed to my own filth to smell it. And what's my plan? To retreat out of the city, sit in a cave somewhere attempting to nurse my own wounds so that I can keep pushing forward with my one-man assault against the Family and now the Loyalists. I plan to do this not only with a distinct lack of support, but with both the government and the Loyalists actively hunting me.

And for what? To murder people capable of redemption? Why?

Because of what her death did to me. Because of the way it ripped my emotions away, left me a tattered shell of a human who could only feel anger. Not because of her, or any of the reasons I made myself believe. Because of me. Because I felt that my redemption had been stripped away.

And that's not enough.

Then, I realize that I have already regained my feet and started walking. The muscles of my legs no longer protest; in fact, they seem to lift and march of their own accord, stepping in time with some sort of unheard rhythm as the patter of my feet against the cobblestone echoes throughout the empty streets. Everyone has fled to their homes, and the city seems to have cleared specifically to make my path easier. Even the sun has flowered behind me, showering the open path with pools of nectar that I follow back to Sozin's Courtyard.

Maybe, this is my path to Redemption. The world seems to think so. Or maybe I am beyond saving at this point; the law would certainly agree. There will be no escaping my fate, now. But somehow, that is okay with me. I can't sustain what I'm doing any longer, and it feels refreshing to place my fate in the hands of another.

The world seems to turn slower as I reach the courtyard, as the memories and scars of the violence and turbulence of the morning reach around the courtyard. I see pools of congealed blood drawn into the shimmering gray pavement, the streaks of blackened char splattered oddly throughout the courtyard, the violent waves and valleys of upturned earth etched into the ground. I almost smile at the expression written upon Toph's face as she senses my presence: the black hair droops suddenly as she furrows her brows violently, the corners of her mouth stretching downward in a lethal grimace as undoubtedly unpleasant scenarios involving me and Earthbending run through her mind. A part of me almost welcomes them.

But Sokka's face is more thoughtful, more restrained as he claps his eyes upon me. Seriousness has chiseled lines upon his face from the chaotic, turbulent past couple of hours; his eyebrows are narrowed in a mixture of both confusion and hesitation, yet the steely blue hue of his eyes that struck me as I entered the courtyard for combat this morning have softened and warmed into a beachy turquoise. He stops Toph with a silent hand that he rests lightly against her shoulder, almost instantly placating her expression into one of thoughtful confusion. I see the horrified expressions of Aang and Katara written into the background behind him, clearly stunned and beyond belief at what has happened to the moderately stable Fire Nation in their absence.

I feel my face burn with potent shame at the sad tint reflected in Aang's cloudy eyes. No thunderstorm rages within them now, no turbulence or innocence, just a slate gray sky brimming with unshed rain. I was one of his greatest achievements. I was one he managed to redeem. Now my redemption is held within my hands and my hands alone.

"Why are you here?" The voice is Sokka's, and though the tone is serious and perfunctory, there is no malice held in his voice. Despite myself, I am grateful for that.

I hold his gaze intently, eyeing him almost as seriously as we did before I forced him into combat, but carrying none of the rage that I did then. I suddenly see pictures of Xiang deep within the recesses of my mind; the pictures are tattered and worn, like ancient, untended paintings as though from long, long ago, yet her face shines with the same happiness and kindness that used to fill me with so much warmth. I don't know why I remember her now, as I seem to have forgotten her long ago, but I am grateful nonetheless.

"I can't keep doing this," I say simply, "Not after this morning. I'm here to accept what I deserve. To confess and let the law decide my fate."

And there is silence throughout the courtyard. Even the birds have stopped their chirping, the wind stopped its low rumble. Eyes clap upon me, but I do not break Sokka's gaze.

"I can't help you, or make this any easier," he says simply, "That time has passed. And your confession won't single-handedly fix the Fire Nation now. It's too late for that. You understand that, right?"

"Yes," I reply, "I do this now for... personal reasons."

Silence.

"For the kid," Sokka says.

"For the kid," I agree.

More silence.

"Did you know who he was?" Sokka asks, "I made him a promise, but I don't know his name". His voice breaks as he asks, the stoic demeanor lost amidst the rush of emotion. I can only imagine the swirl of feelings that must be raging through his body; though I can see the surface reflected upon his cobalt irises, I cannot imagine the depth. They are opaque, and almost unreadable.

The question throws me into matching turmoil. Do I answer? Does it tarnish the legacy of Jiro's heroism to remember the wicked act that nearly destroyed me? Does it matter?

"No," I answer, "He was just some kid, I guess."

* * *

Far Xu, High General of the Loyalist Army:

Controlled speed marks my movements as I burst through the doors into my office. With the connection established between the Family and my army, it is only a matter of time before the Water Tribe planner establishes a raid force. Leaflets of parchment crinkle angrily as I shoulder them into my cloak, wrapping the smooth sheaves of paper and tucking them into overlarge pockets. The dank, brooding tan of the walls feels encapsulating as I mindlessly pry valuable information from the office, refusing to provide the enemy with anything they do not already know.

Inside, however, I seethe with frustration. Another plan, another strategy shattered by those within my employ! I must admit, the traitorous Mouse's actions caught me by surprise. I thought his spine was less steely then that, but even so, I have learned more still from this experience.

Singe stands idly behind me, watching the door even as I pack. His childish insanity seems to have stepped backwards after the events of the battle; his still-swollen face conveys a seriousness that I hadn't previously imagined possible, but even though I find his sudden change worrying, I have not the time to act upon it.

"It's not a total loss," I mumble, almost to myself, "There will still be much confusion over the two Family slaughters. Even were Zuko to return to the palace and confess _today_, I find it doubtful that the entirety of the population would be placated. The Water Tribe boy has much to overcome politically if he is to turn this around. And Lo Dai has not been discovered."

Singe says nothing, merely stands and watches the door.

"We must move quickly," I add, reasoning aloud, "If we can escape and regroup with the rest of my forces, we still have enough agents within the city to create sway. Discord is still available, which means that our foot hasn't entirely been pushed out of the door. But we must move quickly."

Fabric whines noisily as I furtively yank a cloth satchel from the floor. The crimson hues shimmer in the odd resonant light of the facility as still more scraps of parchment and papyrus disappear into the dark recesses of the bag. I narrow my eyes as it fills, slinging it over my shoulder and making for the door.

"Singe!" I bark, not bothering to glance at him, "It's time to move. We have to make for the beach, where our reserves are waiting for...."

A sudden noise stops me in my tracks. A whisper of leather, the odd crinkle of fabric.

Slowly, cautiously, I turn around.

Sharpened steel glitters ferociously in the damp light as the throwing knife twirls between Singe's fingers. He doesn't look at me, but keeps his small, amber eyes focused intently upon the spinning blade as though his life depended on it. I curse myself for a fool as I see the glitter of insanity held there, the small modicum of stability he had held within himself has shattered into pure chaos, unaware of consequences or repercussions. I see the madness swirling into a thunderstorm behind his hawk-like, golden irises, and I feel fear.

"Singe," I say warily.

"Why do you think he did it?" he asks. The blade twirls faster as he speaks, whirring through the air as the sound of the blade piercing the wind catches my ears. "I don't understand. I've watched all the little people scurry around. They're all chased by fear. They're all afraid. It's the most powerful thing in the world. But why wasn't that enough?"

"Singe," I repeat, extending a hand warmly towards him, "We can discuss this later. It is inconsequential. Right now, we have to move."

"Jiro had the fear," he says, "He understood the fear. He lived with it, nursed it. Like everybody else. But he knew he was going to die. He knew it, and he did it anyway. Why did he do that?"

I realize that if I am not totally honest with him, he will pounce. I have no choice.

"Because of a misplaced notion of heroism," I state, "In some cases, the moral ambiguity of 'good' can be driving. Can make a man behave foolish, and ignore the fear to become what they see as 'good'."

"There is no good or evil," he says simply.

"I know..." I begin, but he cuts me off. His eyes flash with the sudden blur of fury that only insanity can provide, aflame and furious by some unknown force that only Singe can perceive.

"_There is no good or evil!_" he screams, and as the throwing knife slaps noisily against his outstretched pointer, gripped ferociously within his tense fingers, instinct takes over. The bag flops against the ground with a light crunch as ancient memories of a previous life grab a hold of my muscles. I see Singe's hand streak backwards through the air, see the sudden rage driving him, the typical care and skill that he usually exudes drowning underneath its potent wake, and the Earth flows into life beneath me.

As I feel it touch me, feel the sudden awareness and life that streaks through my veins, my foot flips through the air and slams upon the ground. Crude, primitive hands claw desperately out of the ground as though from graves deeply underfoot, shaking the room with deafening crunches as they grab hold of his hands and feet. He bares his teeth like an animal as the digits close furiously upon him, the "fingers" sinking into cloth and flesh and dragging him downwards. It swallows him, immune to his rage and his strength as he disappears into the cold black embrace of dirt and shale.

Violent, incoherent babbles of desperation, anger, and madness spurt and froth from his open mouth; tendrils of spittle spray from between his perfectly white teeth as he cranes his neck to reach towards me, the true depths of his insanity suddenly revealed in the translucent emotions reflected in his eyes. Somehow, despite the uncomfortable pangs of dread and disgust that bubble within my stomach, I manage to keep my cool demeanor alight, walking towards him as he suddenly grows silent.

"Yes, now you know my secret," I say. His head cocks to the left in curiosity, like a llama-dog: his mouth agape as drool drips wetly from his chin, pooling in a dark puddle upon the ground. His eyes grab a hold of mine, and even though the gaze is both alarming and primal, I cannot turn away.

"You know as well as I, despite your sanity, that I cannot let you live. I have cultivated this secret for too long. I am going to kill you Singe, and I am going to do it by collapsing the building. I can give no signs of my status as a former member of the Earth Kingdom, so I will make it look like a sudden earthquake has split the earth. But you have been loyal, in your own way, so I will reward you with a story that could perhaps answer your sudden dilemma."

I lean in close, smelling his fetid breath as it wafts warmly against my face.

"I was Dai Li, stationed within the Earth Kingdom, working under the employ of Azula. Her brilliance need not be mentioned; she was unarguably the best tactician that the Fire Nation had during those confrontations with the Avatar. A natural born leader, who could inspire both fear and admiration within her subjects. I had never seen her like, and was privileged with the ability to serve her, for I knew that in serving her, I served greatness."

"But in those final weeks, when the Avatar's forces attacked during the Day of Black Sun, I was nearly killed. In the midst of the hellish battle, I attempted to escort the lady Azula to where she was to lie in wait for the Avatar when a sudden blast from the battle raging outside all but destroyed the building we were passing through. Quick Earthbending managed to save her from the sudden falling wreckage, but in the process, I was pinned by a girder of solid iron and unable to move. I will never forget her words to me as she saw me struggling: held firmly against the ground and utterly unable to move, much less Earthbend. She said: 'I'm sorry that this happened, but you are just not important enough to waste time saving. Take solace in the fact that you die for a cause much greater than yourself'".

"For three days I lay there, my uniform destroyed, starvation and dehydration eating at my sanity before I was found by Fire Nation wreckage-searchers. They pulled me free, and saved my wretched life, and as I tasted food and drink again, I realized the nature of power, and what I was to become should I desire to seek my full potential."

I stand up, away from him, towering over him as he lies prone in his earthen casket. His blank stare continues to pierce me, but I do not waver.

"You think you have power because you can control whether people live or die. You think that fear of death drives people, but the incontrovertible truth you do not recognize is that _everyone_ dies. I remember when I found you, murdering random strangers in the night, the forlorn son of a famous general, grinning ferociously as though your ability to kill granted you enough power to stem the fear, but you failed to understand then, and you fail to understand now. A man's life is finite, but a cause is forever. Men die for causes because in participating for that cause, they live forever in the annuls of history. But even more powerful than this is the man who _controls_ the cause. The head of a revolution, of a sudden social upheaval, regardless of stupid and worthless considerations of abstracts such as 'good' and 'evil', _becomes_ that revolution, and thus gains a power over death. _That_ is true power. And _that_, is what separates great men from insane killers such as yourself. That is all I have to say. Perhaps that may give you some modicum of comfort before you die. Goodbye."

I turn on my heel, feeling his eyes resting upon the back of my neck as I pace furtively across the room. My footsteps echo loudly amongst the facility as I allow the Earthbending to swirl through my muscles and bones, feeling the cracks and crevices beneath, the grain, the flow, the simple structures created in the shale. Then, as the room disappears behind me, I collapse it. My toe traces a simple arc in the floor, reaching deeply and precisely into the recesses of the ground and shattering the give-points in the foundation. I can feel the building rumble as I pace purposefully out of the building, quick to hurry so as not to be caught in the ensuing collapse.

Then, I hear it. The laughter. Childish chirrups reverberating against the walls with even more strength then the earthquake's dull, low rumble. Singe laughs, filling his laughter with all of the childish glee that peppered the chaos that drove him. The noise seems to catch and echo within my ears, vibrating painfully against my skull as it increases in volume and pitch. The giggles take on a life of their own, bubbling and swirling throughout the room as the childishness and the innocence begins to dissipate into madness.

I cannot bear to stay in the building any longer, and with a refreshing gulp of the clean, cold air outside, I exit.

* * *

Epilogue:

The memorial was a simple affair, not thrown to the decadent worshipfulness of the crowd, but kept amongst those who shared the personal experience of the young boy's sacrifice. Sokka of the Water Tribe planned the statue, and with a little help from Toph and some of the Fire Nation's most precise and renowned artists, created the image of the boy in beautiful black marble.

As the tarp came off, casting the completed artifact into the fresh day's air for the first time, the morning sun sent rivers of gilded light that shimmered brightly against the finely honed and polished statue. The simple form of Jiro the Mouse, his unobtrusive posture, the jaded yet innocent roundness of his eyes, the tattered and worn clothes, seemed to be framed in an angelic halo by the gentle kisses of liquid sun. Sokka's blue eyes managed to deepen as the image pulled tears into them, the fresh emotional scars of his sacrifice still an open wound cut deeply into his heart. It is a hard, yet priceless burden to bear, having someone die for you, but Sokka's determination and his simple yet profound mind were focused to the task of living up to the responsibility. And as he snaked his fingers through the openings between his love's, squeezing tightly, the warmth and happiness exuded by the beautiful morning seemed to refresh him, to give him the much needed ability to look to the future with more than just dread.

Toph squeezed back affectionately and shifted her feet against the ground. Though the thoughtful heartbeats of the attendants were not enough to highlight the image for her in its full glory, the marble itself was beautiful: the solid veins of stone that laced the marble transformed the block into a kaleidoscope of pattern and design that seemed to reflect an odd metaphor for the eventful day in which the boy had died. It was so odd, so random when the boy who was present at her kidnapping managed to rescue both her and Sokka from sudden oblivion, yet the reality it presented was far more touching and far more beautiful for all of its abstraction. She cried as she felt his heartbeat slip away, and she never cried, yet the tears that ran down her face as she had clung to the crippled Water Tribe warrior seemed to melt the stony ice that had threatened to engulf her heart. But despite all this, Toph, deep within her soul, was a simple kind of girl, with simple desires, and the ability to clasp the hand of the man she loved was a pleasure not lost on her. It was nice to be grateful for the sun's heat upon her face.

Only one man present knew the identity of the boy, and could perhaps begin to fathom the emotional turmoil that had swirled within him before he died. More than being the memorial, the idyllic hero, he was human to the former Prince with the violent pink scar upon his face. He was forever to be burdened by knowing the Mouse only by the best and worst actions of his life, seeing the greatness of his humanity and the terribleness of it in stark contrast, side by side. Deep within himself, he realized that he had been both rescued and condemned by him, forever in his debt and yet forever darkened, but for some reason the scarred Firebender could not fathom, the knowledge did not place him in conflict. If it lay within the boy to achieve his Redemption, then it also lay within humanity itself. Nevertheless, as the judge had slammed his gavel upon the wooden stand and condemned him to forty years of imprisonment, he was content to be removed from the turbulent, oftentimes confusing world of people. He had disgraced the memories of those he loved, but maybe they could forgive him if he served his time. Maybe he could forgive himself. Was that the truth of what it was to be redeemed? He worried that he may never know.

The Avatar and the Waterbender stood close to each other during the proceedings, the warm skin of their shoulders and arms brushing lightly against each other. They didn't know the boy, didn't see his sacrifice, but amidst the incredible confusion of their return to the Fire Nation, they were grateful nonetheless for the modicum of stability he had restored. Both had to cope with the sudden fear of loss, as the awful weight of the realization that they had almost lost a member of their family descended upon them, but both Sokka and Toph were not only alive, but okay: something they were intensely grateful for. Zuko's descent into homicidal fury still chewed roughly at their hearts, as both Aang and Katara could not help but feel that they had failed him miserably in their absence, but upon seeing the peaceful serenity that had been written into his eyes at the confession, the sharp pain managed to dull into something that was bearable for the both of them.

The worrisome father, whose ferocious meddling and violent sense of protectiveness had swallowed him felt uncomfortable during the ceremonies. The need to hold his daughter in his arms, to keep her from being touched by the world that could be so dark and cold still raged within him, but he was a pragmatic man at heart, and the evidence of the event was not lost upon him. That the Water Tribesman had been willing to literally give up everything for the sake of his blind daughter was incontrovertible, and beautiful at the same time. Was he himself capable of that sacrifice? He wasn't sure, but in the light of the day, as he watched the bright morning sun bathe the world in fresh chances, he decided to appease it and grant fresh chances to both his daughter and her love. When the boat sailed for home, he would be quietly aboard, without the political ruckus he had become so used to stirring up. He would allow, at least this one time, his daughter to make her own decision, and wait to see if it was the correct one. After all, if it wasn't, he could always return.

The problems weren't over, not for any member of the crowd. Dark days lay ahead, and the political and economic turmoil of the Fire Nation still raged furiously beneath their feet. Sokka and the Avatar were ferociously hated in some circles of the Fire Nation populace, and there were still furtive whispers in the dead of night that the Water Tribesman may snap again and murder his rivals in their sleep. But, that day, standing beneath the pleasant shade of the small memorial, the problems of the future were unimportant. It was his sacrifice, inconsequential and yet impossibly priceless that brought them here. Perhaps the future was not as gilded as the morning's light, but the fact that they all had a future that was, at the very least, not _certainly_ dark was something that brought an optimistic sense of warmth to their hearts.

However, another pair of eyes watched the statue that day. They were ferociously amber, yet curiously innocent at the same time.

**_The End_**

* * *

**A/N: **Well there it is, the final words of the longest chapter fic I have ever written! Like I said above, the support I got from you folks even after over a year of no posting was absolutely phenomenal, and I thank each and every one of you. This fic was very fun and very emotional for me to write, as I put alot of myself into it, but reading the wonderful reviews after each chapter made the experience totally incredible. Thank you all so much!

I realize that, in many ways, the ending is a bit unsatisfying, with many loose ends not completely tied up. I did that on purpose, because I felt that it would have been too much to have Jiro's sacrifice totally fix all of the problems of the Fire Nation, and because it also leaves me room to begin a sequel should the mood ever take me! Right now, nothing is planned in that direction, but Avatar still rules even after all this time, and I may be struck by inspiration once again in the future. Here's hoping!

This brings me to a dilemma that has been plaguing me recently. As much as I love Avatar, the time has come for me to take a break from it, and move on to another fandom. The problem is, nothing has struck my interest, and I'm not sure in which direction I want to move! So, since you all have been so kind already, I figured I would ask you! Please, if you're feeling kindly enough to post a review (i like it when you are!), give me a suggestion if something pops into your head of a show or movie or whatever I might like enough to write for pops into your head! I've put a lot of myself into this fic, and you all know my writing style perhaps better than even I do, and I am at a loss for the moment!

Today, I leave for a camping vacation that will take me away from the Internet for awhile, but I look forward to reading all the reviews and suggestions you all post! I want desperately to keep writing, but I need a new fandom, and nothing has struck me just yet! You all rule, and thanks so much for making this the awesome experience it has been.

Keep reading!

Superbleh11


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